Fragments
by WriterGreenReads
Summary: Northern Ireland has always felt like he and his brothers don't get along. But when he is kidnapped by a rogue agency with hostile intentions, everyone's true feelings will come to light. Do the UK brothers care after all? Northern Ireland, Ireland,
1. Chapter 1

**So you know, I will probably not use any human names. If I do, you'll figure out pretty quickly who it is. I will also probably refer to Northern Ireland as "North" a lot, because writing out NORTHERN IRELAND every time is a pain.**

 **DISCLAIMER: Me no own, you no sue. Seriously. This is fanfiction for a reason. That goes for the whole story. The content is mine, though**

* * *

Northern Ireland yawned for what felt like the 100th time that night.

He scowled and rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other shoved deep in the left pocket of his only nice suit. England had forced him to wear it to that day's meeting.

The meeting had gone ridiculously late. _If it could even be called that_ , North thought irritably. He hated it when England hosted the World Conferences. A car whooshed by him in the dark, and he winced at the sudden brightness of headlights shining in his eyes.

 _Why do they even have those meetings?_ he silently asked the darkened sky. _It's not like they ever get anything done. Morons..._ He hated that his brother forced him, as well as Scotland and Wales, to go to all the meetings he hosted. Some blather about "Representing the United Kingdom to its full extent". At least the older two could get away with tormenting England about it.

 _The bloody arseholes_ , North thought, viciously kicking a beer can that was lying on the pavement. Tonight, he wasn't in a very favorable mood. Scotland and Wales had dragged England off the minute the conference had ended. Probably to go to a pub, get drunk, and yell bloody murder at each other about all their past troubles. As usual

Which meant that he was left to walk home. Alone. At night. In the rain.

"I hate them all!" Northern Ireland yelled at nothing in particular. Fortunately, there was no one there to see him screaming like a crazy person into the rain-drenched night. _Because they're not mental, and are actually inside and asleep, instead of mucking around out here._

He finally turned the corner that lead to the walkway directly outside his house. England had had a small one reserved for him when he forced all his brothers to stay in England. Which was often.

 _Maybe I should just declare independence like Ireland did..._ North thought tiredly. After processing that thought (he was exhausted, and it was making his thoughts a bit sluggish) he scowled, furious at himself. _Why the hell am I even considering doing anything like that bastard?! I don't care if he is technically my brother..._

Still fuming, he dug his keys out of pocket and unlocked the front door. Shoving the door open with perhaps a bit more aggression than necessary, he stepped gladly out the chilly rain, welcoming the familiar warmth inside.

North wiped the water off his face and tossed his keys and phone on the table as soon as he got into the living room. He was NOT going to go get his brothers if they called. They could suffer on their own.

When he had changed out of his damp suit and into a much more comfortable T-shirt and jeans, his irritability cooled a bit, but the previously controlled exhaustion was now demanding his attention.

North was just coming out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his drenched hair, when he felt that something was wrong. He hurriedly checked the living room again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But still...

His brothers _had_ always told him to go with his instincts. And right now, even in his tired state, they were buzzing like crazy.

Frowning, he lay the towel down on the back of the only armchair and started to make his way towards the kitchen.

He had made it halfway across the room when he was roughly tackled from behind and slammed into the hardwood floor.

North cried out in surprise. Twisting, he managed to elbow his assailant in the face. The man let go with a gasp of pain, and North scrambled backwards, out of his grasp.

The man was wearing a brown jacket, with dark hair and a nondescript face. He looked like any one of England's normal citizens. Northern Ireland barely had time to register this before he was grabbed from behind again and pulled upwards, off his feet, arms pinned behind his back. Two other men.

North struggled, trying to wrench his body around and get loose. _How many of them are there?_ He thought frantically. _Who are they?_

"Let go of me!" he spat. He managed to work an arm free, and struck one of the attackers hard across the ribs. There was a loud CRACK and the man lost his grip on North, clutching his abdomen.

North felt grim satisfaction as he kicked out as one of the other men. He might not be as strong as his brothers, or say, America, but he was still a nation.

A order was barked in a language he didn't catch, and suddenly, a sickly sweet smelling cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose.

North panicked, knowing what they were trying to do, and thrashed violently, trying to get out of his attackers' grip.

One of them hit him in the stomach, and he gasped, involuntarily breathing in.

He could feel himself going numb, and black spots were starting to dance across his vision.

North's struggles were gradually getting weaker as the chloroform set in in. He tried shaking his head to get it off, but everything was fading away.

 _I can't..._ he thought groggily. _I have... to... stay..._

He didn't even register his collapse.

* * *

The six assailants stood, breathing hard, and nursing their various injuries. Two of them were still holding the young ginger nation, who was limp and unconscious, having finally succumbed to the chloroform.

One of the men cursed, holding his ribs painfully. "Holy shit! That kid is strong!"

A few of the others nodded, and the two that were holding their target laid him down on the floor.

"This is the correct one, right?" The first assailant asked.

Another man knelt by the unconscious nation and studied his face. "Almost definitely. Our orders said slender, ginger haired, looking to be in his middle to late teens. This is him."

"How long does the chloroform last?" the tallest attacker asked, picking their captive up and slinging him over his shoulder.

"It should last for about two hours, but we don't really know. We don't exactly have records on them. Nothing concrete, anyway."

"Right. Get back to the cars. Follow your orders to the letter, understand? We're just the first leg, we need to get the target to the next checkpoint. Move."

It was all very well planned.


	2. Chapter 2

Northern Ireland was realizing that waking up after getting chloroformed _sucked_.

He groaned. _God, my head._ His mouth tasted like a car battery. Or what he imagined a car battery would taste like. Was this what getting hung over felt like? If so, his did not envy his brothers one bit.

North cracked one of his eyes open. He was lying on his side in what looked like the inside of a van. It was moving too, he could both hear and feel the engine running.

Upon further inspection, he realized that he was tied up, with rope around his ankles, knees, wrists, arms and chest.

There was a commotion. "He's awake!"

An expletive was spat. "Impossible. What time is it?"

"About 4 in the morning."

"That was just 30 minutes!"

"Good thing we restrained him already..."

North painfully craned his head upwards to get a better look at his surroundings. There were two other men in the van with him, he recognized them as some of his attackers from earlier. One was driving.

The one in the back with him shifted over and grabbed North by the collar, dragging him upright in an awkward sitting position.

"Who-" North started, but gagged when the man roughly tied a cloth over his mouth, silencing him. The man jerked the nation's head back as he tied it, making North wince.

Apparently just in time, because the van was slowing down. It halted abruptly, and North was thrown forwards a bit.

After about 30 seconds, he heard footsteps crunching up to the driver's side of the van. The driver rolled down the window.

"I'm sorry sir, but I-"

"MI6," the man said coldly. North couldn't see the exchange, but he assumed that he was showing the man-probably a police officer- a badge. "Get out the way."

The badge must have looked authentic- _Or,_ North had a horrible thought. _It_ is _authentic_ \- because the outside man stuttered an apology and left in a hurry.

The teenage nation tried making some noise to alert the man before he left, but the assailant closest to him kicked him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

The van started up again, continuing unmolested.

The man sat back and regarded their captive with suspicion and no small amount of dislike.

"So you're a personified nation," he said in English with an accent North couldn't place. The man narrowed his eyes. "Don't look like much."

Unable to reply, North gave him a look that could have melted steel.

The man snorted and struck him across the face. North's head snapped to the side with a loud CRACK. He stayed there for a moment, breathing hard. The man must have been wearing a ring. He had cut North high up on the cheekbone, and he could feel a faint trickle of blood making its way down the side of his face.

"I bet you feel so superior, compared to the rest of us," his attacker said bitterly. "Like you're some sort of god."

North fought down the small flutters of panic that were growing in his chest. _Okay,_ he thought. _I'm being held captive by some unknown organization. They clearly know about the existence of personified nations, which is supposed to be top-secret. And they're hostile about it._

This was pretty bad.

"How does anyone know that what they're doing is their own free will?" The man was sill talking. "Maybe we're all just little puppets for you and your friends to pull the strings."

He grinned nastily at North, who glared back.

"Not that you're going to be doing any string pulling anymore." He leaned closer in almost conspirital way. "Not if our scientists have anything to say about it."

North felt his heart hammering in his chest. He swallowed uncomfortably, forcing himself to appear outwardly calm. The man's eyes narrowed, as if he were unsatisfied by the lack of response from his prisoner.

In a quick motion, the man stood and grabbed North by the collar and the ropes around his chest, pulling the nation up to look him in the eyes. North's feet dangled a good foot off the ground. This man was a lot taller than he was.

"Do you know what they're going to do to you, _Northern Ireland_?" The man's voice dropped to a purr. North kept a look of disdain on his face, shoving the rest of his emotions down.

"They're going to dissect you. Find out what makes you _tick_."

North facade wavered for a second and he trembled involuntarily. The attacker noticed, and his smile grew wider.

"They're going to see what strange little powers you've got, and when they're done? They're going to dispose-."

North head-butted the man in the face.

The man swore in a different language and dropped North. Having no way of catching himself with his arms tied behind his back, North landed painfully on his side. His head cracked against the floor of the van.

North inhaled sharply from the pain and closed his eyes. He could already feel the blood trickling through his hair.

Tha man yelled something else in his own language (maybe a Scandinavian language?). It sounded like more cursing.

In his current foggy-brained state, all North could think was, _Oh good. I've managed to antagonize the unbalanced kidnapper so that he's more upset than he already was._

Then the man started kicking him.

North winced at every blow that connected, unable to do anything about it. A faint whimper made it past his gag after one of the more incensed kicks cracked a rib.

After a minute or so, the man apparently controlled himself and stopped, backing away. North lay limp, desperately trying to force air back into his abused lungs. His chest heaved with every breath he took, sending shooting pains through the rest of his body.

The man knelt by North, satisfaction written on his face. North glared at him defiantly. The man pulled his head upwards by the hair, forcing the young nation to look him in the face.

"Do you know why we chose you?" the man snapped. "And not another small nation? We could have, you know. We could have taken Iceland or maybe another one of the weaker nations. Apparently Italy is pretty soft."

North kept up his glare, not sure where the man was going with this.

"We chose you, Northern Ireland," naming his true identity for the second time, "because you won't be missed." His captor smirked at him.

That threw North for a second. That wasn't true... was it?

The man dropped North's head and sat back nonchalantly. "We know all about your relationship with your brothers. We know you don't get along. In fact, it could be said you hate each others guts."

North rested his head on the floor, thinking. That part was certainly true. He and his brothers didn't get along. All the fighting, the arguments...

"So why would they care when their annoying little brother goes missing?"

North jerked his head up at that, astonished. The man smirked at the reaction he had wrought.

"Would they even notice? Probably not. And even if they did, why would they want you back? You're a pretty worthless little country. In fact, Ireland would probably be happy to get all his territory back. That you _stole_ from him."

North was now very still. Would they care? He didn't know. He felt very cold, like frost was settling into his bones. All over his body it spread, combining with the pain from his injuries.

His brothers... they wouldn't try to find him. They always treated him like an immature brat anyways. Maybe... maybe they'd even be _glad_ to see the last of him.

The man's final words echoed in his ears, because Northern Ireland knew them to be true.

"Face it kid, no one's coming, because no one cares."

* * *

It had been three days since the last World Conference.

England was at home, royally pissed off at the huge mess all the other countries had left him. To be honest, he was half sure that some of them had made a big of a mess as possible, just to give him trouble.

Maybe more than some.

"YES, I'm aware of that sir. I will make sure that they do not have access to silly string next time. The same goes for the water pistols. And I will make sure to keep an extra fire extinguisher in each room from now on. You have my apologies, again."

England slammed the phone back in its cradle with an exasperated sigh. The morons.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling as he thought about the chaos of the past few days. _Nobody appreciates the effort I put into all these meetings_ , he thought sourly. _They think they can just waltz about and do whatever they like. Why don't they act like this in their own countries?!_

 _Actually... they probably do._

After one last sigh, he got up from his armchair to go make himself another cup of tea. Before he could go anywhere though, the phone rang shrilly again.

"Not again..." he muttered, swinging back around and picking up.

"Yes, if this is about that incident earlier, I can assure you-"

"Buck up, England, it's me."

Not much better.

"Wales?" England frowned. "Why on earth are _you_ calling me?" Normally, his brothers didn't talk to him for at least a month after he hosted the World Conference.

"Have you seen North around lately?" Wales asked.

England blinked. Whatever he had been expecting his brother to talk to him about, this was definitely not high up on the list. "No, not since the last night of the conference." He threw in an irritated jab. "But I don't normally see any of you very often anymore."

Wales ignored the comment, which surprised England.

"Neither have I. I thought he was just upset over us going off and leaving him-and you know how North gets."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" England snapped.

"Oh, shut it. I just was wondering. He's not picking up his phone, I've already called a few times."

"He's probably just sulking. Go look for him at his house if you're that concerned about him."

England heard a soft snort over the line. "I've already got Scottie doing that."

England raised an eyebrow. "Really? How did you manage that?"

"Blackmail."

"Ah."

An awkward pause ensued. "So..." England said. "Was that it?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your bloomers in a twist. It's just..."

England waited, a little surprised at the change in Wales voice.

"Something just doesn't _feel_ right, you know?"

That really threw England for a loop.

"I'll call you if I see him," England told him in a softer tone.

"Thanks, _brawd_." Wales hung up.

England set down the phone again, disconcerted. Wales must really feel that something was off. He was normally much more stoic.

England had an uneasy feeling himself now. _No, don't be stupid_ , he told himself. _North's probably just avoiding us. He'll turn up._

But he couldn't shake that cold feeling that was settling into his bones.

* * *

Scotland was _not_ amused.

He was currently on the path outside his youngest brother's house; forced to play nanny because of another one of his brothers. _I'm not even sure where he found that out... Trust Wales to sink to blackmail._

He banged loudly on the front door.

"North!" he yelled. "I know you're in there. Get out here."

He waited a minute, but there was no reply. Grumbling about the thickheadedness of certain family members, Scotland tried the doorknob, and was surprised to find it already unlocked.

"North!" Scotland yelled again. He stomped through the front hallway. "Come on, stop sulking and start acting your age!"

His yell bounced emptily off the walls. Still no reply.

Scotland frowned. Even North would have answered by now, if just to kick his older brother out of his house. A thorough search of the small dwelling confirmed his suspicion. North wasn't home.

The Scottish nation puffed his cigarette thoughtfully. This really wasn't like the youngest Kirkland brother. Well, not entirely. North would avoid his brothers all the time. Scotland felt a faint pain of-was that guilt?

Meandering back into the living room area, a glint caught the corner of his eye. He walked over to the coffee table. On it sat Northern Ireland's keys and cellphone. He picked them both up, fingering the keys thoughtfully.

 _That's weird,_ the Scotsman thought. _I guess Wales was right about him not picking up. If he's not here, why are these?_ He pocketed them. Turning around, he scanned the living room again, this time looking for little things. Anything that might give him a hint as to where North had gone.

There was a towel draped over the back of the room's only armchair, and after close inspection, it was proved to be completely dry. Scotland shook his head, frustrated. Something _felt_ off, his warrior instincts from his _gallowglasse_ days were humming in the back of his mind.

He was just starting to leave when something caught his eye. There, barely peeking out from under the shadow of the armchair. He stooped and tugged at the white corner of fabric, pulling it out into the open. Standing up, he scrutinized the square of cloth.

It looked... ordinary. But his instincts were telling him it was not, and they'd never been wrong before. _Oh, what the hell,_ Scotland thought. He brought it close to his face and muttered _"Seall"_ , drawing on a small amount of magic.

There was a small ripping sound accompanied by a flash of light. A sickly sweet smell lingered in the air for a moment, then faded.

Scotland furrowed his brow, thinking. _That smell... it's familiar._

His eyes widened when the realization struck him.

" _A thighearna!_ "

* * *

 **Welsh:**

 _ **Brawd**_ **\- brother**

 **Scottish Gaelic:**

 _ **Seall**_ **-reveal**

 _ **A thighearna!**_ **\- Oh my God!**

 _ **Gallowglasse**_ **\- Ancient Scottish warriors, an elite group of mercenaries.**

 **Please tell me what you think!**

 **Aaaaaah, people from Northern Ireland, I'm sorry! I actually happen to think that you are a very cool country.**

 **Also, if I got any of the translations wrong, please tell me and I will fix them.**


	3. Chapter 3

Northern Ireland didn't know where he was anymore.

It had been 3 days since he had first been captured. At least he thought it was about three days. Everytime he was moved to a new vehicle or custody he was knocked unconscious, so he had pretty much lost track of time.

Right now, North thought he was at his final location. Before he had gotten drugged the last time, he had overheard some of the men talking. He was now at "The Facility". Wherever that was. Somewhere cold. The smooth floor beneath his bare feet was icy, but he was too numb to actually feel it by now. The young nation was shivering violently.

North shifted for the 10th time in the last minute in a futile attempt to lessen the stress on his shoulder muscles. His arms were chained high above his head, the cold metal cutting painfully into his already abused wrists. Thin streams of blood dribbled down his forearms.

He sighed, hanging his head. He had given up a long time ago at trying to see anything in the pitch black of his cell. It made North feel like he was completely caught off from the rest of the world. Forgotten. The initial terror of his imprisonment had faded to resignment over the situation. No one cared enough to come get him, and right now there was certaintly no way he was going to escape on his own.

A soft unknown clinking noise interrupted North's despondent thoughts. A blinding shaft of light cut through the darkness, making a door shaped opening in front of him. North winced at the sudden brightness, screwing his eyes up and turning his head away.

Sharp footsteps made their way towards him. He felt unknown fingers examine him, and another cold piece of metal was snapped into place around the nation's throat. Cracking one eye open, North could barely make out the fuzzy shape of a women in a white lab coat.

The women continued her examination, writing down various things on a clipboard that she held. Then she brought out several small pale circles and started sticking them onto key points on North's body. He flinched away when she lifted his shirt up to place one of them directly over his heart.

When she had finished, the women stepped back and scrutinized her handywork. Bringing a small metallic object to her lips, she spoke into it.

"Day 1, Cold trials. Testing room currently at 0 degrees Celsius. Subject: Northern Ireland. No immediate change, commence lowering in temperature."

North started at the last sentance, alarmed. Colder? Trials? Then he realized what they were doing, and was horrified. _They're using me as a lab rat._ North choked back a hysterical laugh. _And I can't die. I can't ever leave. They found the perfect subject._

The women left. The door slammed shut, leaving North alone in the frozen dark.

* * *

England met up with Wales and Ireland outside Scotland's front door.

"Ireland?" the blond nation asked, suspicious. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

The Irish nation crossed his arms, unpeturbed by his younger brother's frown. "Same as you, I expect. Scotland called me. Said it was important, and to meet him here."

England raised his eyebrows "And you came?" he asked, rather snidely.

That ruffled Ireland a bit. He scowled. "Of course I did! I actually care about my brothers and listen when they say it's important. Unlike some, who just order others around and only participate when it suits them!" he shot back.

The blond brother flushed angrily. "Why, I'll have you know-"

"Oh, shut your gobs, the both of you." Wales interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, this is important. How many times has _Scotland_ called a meeting? Normally I have to drag him to them, and now he calls one all by himself? It must be urgent."

As if to prove his point, the door slammed open at that very moment. The red-haired Scottish nation stood in the doorway. He took a quick glance around, and saw that his brothers were there.

"Don't just stand there," he snapped. "Get in."

The three brothers exchanged a glance and filed in after Scotland. Once they had settled in the living room, Scotland started pacing. It looked like he had been doing that for a while.

Wales asked the obvious question that they had all been thinking. "Why did you call a meeting?" he asked bluntly. "It's not like you to want to be social." Scotland stopped his repetitive motions and turned to his mystfied brothers.

The Scottish nation took a deep breath. "I called for a meeting because I didn't want anyone else to know about this." The normally unflappable nation's face was creased with worry. "This isn't the type of thing we want to talk about on the phone."

"Talk about _what?!_ " Ireland interrupted, exasperated. " _Alba_ , what's going on?!"

"North's been kidnapped."

Ireland, Wales, and England stared at him in varying degrees of shock, horror, and disbelief. Scotland sat down on the coach, rubbing his forehead.

England found his voice first. "That's preposterous," he said shakily. "Nobody knows who we actually are."

"How do you know?" Ireland asked at almost the exact same time. Wales had sat down on the coach next to Scotland and was staring at the ground blankly. " _A Dduw..."_

Scotland reached into the pocket of his blue coat and pulled out the white cloth he had found at his youngest brother's house. Wordlessly, he handed it to Ireland. The oldest nation frowned as he studied it. His eyes widened when he arrived at the same realization that Scotland had, though quicker and without the need for a reveal spell.

"I found it in North's house when Wales sent me to go look for him. He's been missing since the last World Meeting," Scotland explained.

"What is it?" England asked, confused and worried. "Couldn't it just be a handkerchief or something?" England was grasping at straws here. He laughed weakly. "Maybe North is just taking a trip?"

"Do you normally soak your hankies in chloroform?" Scotland asked flatly. He shook his head angrily. "No, someone took him."

There was silence as the four brother nations stood and sat uncomfortably. All of them were thinking of when they had last seen their little brother, and felt ashamed when they realized that they hadn't even thought to check on him.

Ireland broke the silence by slamming his hand down on the back of an armchair with a loud BANG. The other nations jumped. " _Damnu air!_ " he swore. The Irish nation closed his eyes, breathing deeply. When he opened them again, their emerald green had turned as flat and hard as the stones they resembled. "We need to start looking for him," he stated with an iron calm. "Where should we start?"

"We shouldn't tell the other nations," Wales spoke up again quietly. He nodded towards Scotland. "You were right that we should keep this a secret. We don't want to show weakness. If someone _does_ know our true identities, then we'd only make it worse by broadcasting that we can be hurt."

"That's probably why they took him," England said. He ran a hand through his messy blond hair and sighed. "Someone wants to know about nation personifications," he said bitterly. "And now they have one to do with what they like." He shuddered at the bleak picture that painted.

Scotland's face turned dark with rage at that. "I'll kill them," he ground out. "If they think that they can just..." He clenched his fits, making an effort to control himself. "If we can't tell any of the other nations, then how are we going to go about finding North?" he asked, anger radiating dangerously off his muscular body. "I know he isn't in my place; I can't feel him any where. Can you?" The other brothers paused for a second, mentally flashing through their lands. All three gave a negative answer after the search. "We can't have the others search without giving this away, so what are we going to do?"

Ireland tapped the back of the chair thoughtfully. "I'll try some spells," he offered. "I don't know how precise they'll be, but we can at least get a general location." Wales looked up, a bit of hope beginning to shine in his eyes. "Will that work?" he asked eagerly.

Ireland shrugged. "I don't know. It depends on North. If he's reaching out to us, then I should be able to pick _something_ up." He paused, looking a bit concerned. "My magic isn't as strong as it used to be," he admitted. Wales sighed in agreement. "None of ours is," the Welsh nation said sadly. "It's all kind of just... fading away."

"I'll help you," England cut in abruptly. Ireland did a double take, staring at his brother in surprise. " _You_ are going to help _me?_ " the eldest nation asked, trying not to sound as shocked as he was.

"Yes." England was looking downwards, face instructable. "I _can_ do magic, being your brother and all." He seemed to shake something off, and a bit of his familiar annoyance crept back into his voice. "Are we going to get started or not?"

"Ay," Scotland agreed, getting off the coach. "Wales and I can check around the non-magic way- look for anything unusual -online, on cameras, screens, whatever." He cracked his knuckles, looking at his brothers for confirmation. Each set of green eyes was glittering with the same dangerous light.

"Let's find our little brother."

* * *

 **Welsh:**

 _ **A Dduw-**_ **Oh God**

 **Irish:**

 _ **Damnu air-**_ **Damn it**

 _ **Alba**_ **is the Scottish - Gaelic term for Scotland**

 **Thank you for all reading this! It means a lot to me.**

 **Unfortunately, I will not be able to update as often for the next few chapters, so instead of every weekish, it might be every 2 weekish. But hopefully no more than that. Sorry!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the last chapter being short, and for the delay, so here is a slightly longer chapter for you all!**

* * *

North wished that he could die.

Die and stay dead, at least. He had already died so many times here. That must be why they kept coming up with more tests. He had frozen and burned; been poisoned and shot. Every part of him had been analyzed, measured, and recorded. But all that had been nothing to what had just happened.

North shuddered, fingers tightly clutching the blood-stained bandages that were wrapped around his torso. The floor of this cell wasn't nearly as cold as the first one. He kept his eyes tightly closed, trying to blot out the memories. His fingers traced the irregularity of the stitches underneath the damp cloth. The physical wound would be completely healed in a few days, but he would still remember. And he knew that he would always remember.

The feeling of the hard restraints around his wrists when they had strapped his limbs down because he was fighting them. The screaming-his screaming- that had faded to a background noise in the distance. The sharp prick of a needle in his arm, and the way the whole world had blurred, freezing his muscles and joints so that he couldn't move. Either they didn't know, or didn't care that he had been awake the whole time. That he could feel every torturous second that had slowly ticked by.

The first cut of a scalpel on his chest.

North curled up into an even tighter ball. Oh God. He felt so violated. His shuddering grew more violent. That man had been right. They _had_ dissected him. Like an experiment.

What was he going to do?

North didn't realize that he was crying until his face was already damp. He hadn't cried in years. The tears trickled silently down his face, mingling with the blood staining the concrete floor.

He wasn't sure what made him say it. He was sure that his brothers didn't really care. And he didn't have any magic, like his brothers did.

But if there was anyway that they could hear him...

" _Le do thoil..._ "he whispered shakily. " _Deartháireacha... Cabhraigh liom..."_

The small plea echoed softly in the still air of his shadowy cell.

The lock on the door clanked. North jolted up, the dread washing over him temporarily numbing the fiery pain plaguing his body. He shrank back against the wall of his cell. They were coming back.

* * *

Ireland had insisted on choosing the place to cast the locater spell, so England had had no choice but to agree and come along. That was the reason why they were both in Ireland, just a few hundred meters from the Northern Ireland/Ireland border.

Ireland was currently drawing a magic circle on the mossy ground. The eldest brother had picked a very secluded spot for the spell. The small clearing was surrounded by ancients oaks, with weak shafts of sunlight filtering through the leaves. England supposed that it made sense, the location. As much as he hated to admit it, Ireland's magic was by far the strongest of the Britannia brothers and he had the most knowledge about it. He was the first, after all.

England cleared his throat. "Do you need any help?" he asked, a bit peevishly. Ireland hadn't said a word to him since they had arrived.

"Not with this," came the brusque answer.

England scowled, crossing his arms. He had almost forgotten how irritating the Irish nation could be. "Is there anything I _can_ do?!" he snapped. "You don't have to do this all by yourself!"

Ireland looked up from where he was kneeling, an affronted and highly annoyed look on his face. He opened his mouth, presumably to snap something back... and stopped. His eyebrows furrowed, and he sighed.

"You still remember how to summon the winds, correct?" the Irish nation asked reluctantly. He nodded his head towards the circle he was drawing. "I'm going to need some help with the power."

England simply nodded. Ireland hesitated, then nodded back before turning back to his work.

Taking a sharpened oak switch, England starting drawing the correct runes around the edge of the existing circle. There was a rather uncomfortable silence between the two brothers for the next several minutes. The loudest noises in the clearing were the small scuffles as they moved and the harmonizing bird songs.

England finished his circle long before Ireland finished his. The British nation stood, stretching his back slightly. It was a pretty basic power enhancer to add to any spell. A little nostalgically, he remembered the first days when Ireland had taught it to him.

"What else are you planning on adding?" England asked, more for the sake of breaking the silence than anything else.

"You can do the wards," came the absentminded answer.

England sighed grumpily. It looked like he would be stuck doing the basics. Settling down to draw again, he glanced over at his brother. The younger nation paused in surprise.

Ireland looked... tense, there was no other way to describe it. The weak sunlight glanced off his ginger hair, lending a harsh cast to his set face. He drew the ancient runes with a deliberate precision that came from centuries of practice, but his knuckles were white where he held his marker in a death grip. He looked as taught as a drawn bow. _If I yelled, he'd might attack me_ , England thought wryly

He felt like it might be a bad time to bring this up, but honestly, this question had been niggling his mind since he had seen his oldest brother on Scotland's doorstep.

" _Éire_?" he asked.

Ireland started, almost falling over. The twig he was holding snapped in two, unable to withstand the full strength of a nation. He swore under his breath.

"What?!" the Irish nation growled, turning to face England. His green eyes blazed with some emotion England couldn't identify.

"Do you hate North?"

Ireland blinked, looking stunned. He looked down, clenching his fists. His shoulders tensed, and he looked like he might start raging at his younger brother.

Just when England was starting to regret having ever asked, Ireland closed his eyes. All of the tension drained out of his posture. The Irish nation sat back down on the mossy ground. All of a sudden, he looked his true age, the weight of many centuries resting heavily on him.

England stood, just watching, slightly perturbed at seeing this unusual display of emotion.

Ireland looked back up at England, his face weary.

"No," he said softly. "How could I?" He pushed his ginger hair out of his eyes tiredly.

England, after hesitating for a moment, sat cautiously besides his older brother. Ireland didn't move or react, which he took as a good sign.

The Irish nation leaned forwards, wrapping his arms around his knees. He blew out a deep breath. He wasn't used to this anymore than England was.

"I know about all the rivalry between our two countries," Ireland started. He stared forwards blankly, expressionless. "I feel it all the time. But I don't, and I never have, hated him. He's my wee brother, even if he is a pain in the arse sometimes." The Irish nation sighed. "I don't hate any of you."

"Then why did you leave?" England asked accusingly. He regretted it the moment he said it, at seeing the indignant hurt on the older nation's face.

Ireland shook his head. "You know why," he said quietly. "You know how things were then."

England looked away, not able to look him in the eye. He _did_ know.

An unexpected change halted their conversation.

A brief gust of wind ruffled the nations' hair. Both brothers started in surprise at an unfamiliar-yet-familiar presence.

 _Le do thoil..._

Ireland shot to his feet. "North?!" he yelled. He had a strange mix of hope and horror on his face.

 _Deartháireacha..._

England got up as well. "That _is_ him!" he exclaimed. He turned to Ireland in shock. "But I thought he didn't have any magic!"

Ireland looked equally stunned. "So did I..." He snapped out of his reverie and dropped back to the ground, drawing a hasty simple magic circle on the ground. "But if he does..."

 _Cabhraigh liom..._

England winced at the sudden wave of pain and despair that washed over him. Ireland had finished his circle and had both palms pressed to the earth, eyes closed, murmuring quickly in Ancient Irish.

Just as the last of North's presence was being carried off by the wind, Ireland's own magic flared in response. His roughly sketched runes glowed a dark green momentarily, then faded.

England let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "What did you do?" he asked urgently.

Ireland's eyes were still tightly closed. He traced the runes with one finger. "I trapped some of the magic in here. It's definitely North."

England immediately made the connection. "Can we use it to trace it back to him?" he asked, already certain he knew the answer.

Ireland's eyes snapped open, and he grinned victoriously.

"Yes."

* * *

Dr. Thorne was not an evil man.

He was a very brilliant one, though. He had graduated from a prestigious medical college with full honors, and could have had a successful job anywhere he wanted. Or so he had thought.

But actually, he was GLAD that he had been turned down everywhere he went. What did they know about proper psychiatric help anyways? If he hadn't, he would never of had this opportunity to save the world.

Nations, he decided, were the key.

He had heard whispers in what could almost be called a medical underworld. Of people that never aged, never died. Men and women that healed from all injury and sickness. People that simply disappeared. People that felt so familiar that you instinctively trusted them, as though you'd known them your entire life.

So he had gone searching for these people. These not-quite humans. Trawling through ancient records, he had found more hints everywhere, mostly in mentions of war. Occasionally he would find paintings or photographs. It had all pointed to the same thing. The personification of the world's nations.

At first, he had barely believed it. It seemed just too ridiculous.

But they were here.

And that could not be allowed.

Why did they get to live on, ageless and eternal, while the rest of humanity withered away with the dust of the years? What made them so worthy of the greatest possible gift one could be bestowed with? Why shouldn't all people share in that miracle?

And so he a planned. Saved. Made bargains. All of his work had finally paid off, after 13 long years. It had all led to this secret facility in the Artic Circle, hidden away from the rest of the world.

Dr. Thorne had his first test subject.

He had chosen the personification of Northern Ireland for many reasons. This personification seemed to be fairly young and harmless looking. All the records he had compiled on this particular nation had said that he resembled a teenager. Which made sense, he supposed. After all, Northern Ireland was still a very young country. And given the rivalries between the countries in the UK, it was logical that the respective personifications viewed each other the same way. So little chance of rescue attempts.

Also, who would notice this tiny little boy missing? It wasn't like he had appropriated the world's leading superpower.

But he needed more information. His team of scientists (all sympathizers) had run every test they could think of. Dr. Thorne had even gotten some from the concentration camp records he had found. Northern Ireland would not die. Or at least, he would not stay dead. His wounds all repaired themselves at a miraculous rate. Physical effects made no lasting impression on the young nation.

 _Although_ , Dr. Thorne mused. _He_ does _react just like you would expect a boy looking his age to do. Mentally, he appears to be a teenager._

All of this was why Dr. Thorne had decided that interrogation would be the next step.

He was currently waiting in the room that he had prepared, absentmindedly fiddling with the electric switch on the controller he was holding. He had ordered the guards to bring in the subject a few minutes ago. Since it was taking this long, the nation must have already recovered enough from the last test to put up a struggle. Dr. Thorne shook his head in amazement. It was fascinating. Northern Ireland had literally been cut apart, yet a scarce 20 hours later, he was fighting. A stronger-than-normal strength level was another thing that the scientists had discovered.

The clank of the door interrupted his musings. Dr. Thorne glanced up in time to see the two guards dragging the subject into the small room. The nation's hands were cuffed behind his back, and the blood-stained bandages were vividly prominent on his bare torso, but he was still digging his feet into the concrete floor, a look of desperation on his face.

One of the guards, fed up with the subject's struggles, cracked him solidly on the back on the head with his baton. Northern Ireland went limp and slumped forwards in the guards' grasps, stunned.

"Thank you," Dr. Thorne said, standing up from the table. "Could you please remove the handcuffs? I can handle it from here."

The taller guard nodded and unlocked the handcuffs. After the two of them had deposited the currently senseless nation in the only other chair in the room, Dr. Thorne dismissed them.

The nation was still out of it, but Dr. Thorne knew that he would quickly recover from such a small injury. He made sure to move with a reasonable speed as he tightened the leather restraints that bound Northern Ireland to the chair. He sat back with a small sigh.

Dr. Thorne took this opportunity to study his subject. He had seen him, of course, but never up close, and never with much scrutiny.

He looked... like a teenager. Wisps of vibrant ginger hair fell over his forehead, the ends stained with dried blood. A smattering of freckles marched across the bridge of the young nation's nose and cheekbones, standing out from his currently chalky pale complexion. He was naturally slender, although now he looked almost waifish in this abused state, the sharp edges of his bones cutting dramatic angles under his skin.

 _If I saw him on the streets and didn't know of his true identity,_ Dr. Thorne thought. _Would I be able to tell he wasn't human?_

Northern Ireland's eyes fluttered open. After a second of cloudiness and confusion, they fixed on the doctor with a piercing gaze. The doctor immediately knew the answer.

 _Yes._

A vivid emerald green, Northern Ireland's showed years of wisdom and weariness that no teenage boy could hope to possess.

Northern Ireland's head snapped up, scanning the room. Dr. Thorne watched as his face paled a little as he took in the situation he was in. The nation's entire body tensed, and he briefly strained against the straps holding him in place. After a moment, he gave in to the futility of it and stopped, posture rigid and wary.

Dr. Thorne broke the silence first.

"It's nice to finally be able to talk to you face to face," he said calmly. "We've been a little busy, so I didn't have the opportunity." He tapped the desk. "Good thing we're going to remedy that now."

The young nation simply looked at him, suspicion and the faintest hint of worry in his eyes.

"You should know that this is all in the name of science." Dr. Thorne suddenly felt the urge to explain himself. "You're doing so much good for the human race right now. But we just need a little more information that only you can give to us." He raised his eyebrows in a question. "Are you ready to talk to us?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything."

Dr. Thorne was a little startled hearing his subject speak for the first time. Though weak and raspy, the young nation's Irish lilt was surprising firm, considering the situation. Covering up his surprise, he simply smiled at his subject.

"That's not very polite, is it?" he admonished, as though speaking to a small child. "I was hoping we'd get off to a better start than that." He was hoping for another answer from the wordless nation, but was disappointed when Northern Ireland simply narrowed his eyes at him.

Dr. Thorne scowled inside his head, feeling faint flickers of annoyance rising up inside him. He picked up the modified shock collar he had lying on the table and showed it to the nation, twirling it around his fingers.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

He felt a small flare of satisfaction at the way his subject's eyes widened, fear along with realization dancing in them. _He might not have replied verbally_ , Dr. Thorne thought. _But it was an answer just the same._

Getting up from his chair, Dr. Thorne clipped the collar into place around Northern Ireland neck. He noted with interest the small tremors running throughout the nation's body at the contact. Against his wish, that satisfaction welled up inside him again.

Sitting back down again, the doctor picked up his controller eagerly. He smiled again at the now rigid nation.

"Let's start with something small, shall we? How old are you?"

That elected a small humorless laugh from the subject.

"You know I'm Northern Ireland, you've confirmed that many times. If you know that, you know my history, and my founding date." The nation cocked his head, a faint sarcastic smile playing around the edges of his mouth. "You do the math."

Dr. Thorne frowned thoughtfully. It looked like the young nation wasn't going to make this easy. Oh, well. Technically, he had answered the question, so he didn't have to use the controller yet.

"So you're around a century old," he confirmed. "Why do you still look like a teenager?"

Northern Ireland hesitated. He looked conflicted.

"I don't know." he finally said.

Then he gasped and jerked as an electric pulse raced through him.

"That was the lowest setting," Dr. Thorne informed him pleasantly. "It really would be easier if you were just honest with me."

The nation's head was hanging forward, his hair falling into his eyes.

"I already told you. I'm not going to tell you anything," he said haltingly, voice thick with pain. The doctor frowned again. It was surprising how resilient he was being. He shocked the nation again, electing another disappointingly small reaction from his subject.

The doctor decided to give up on that question and move on to more important ones.

"Very well, we'll move on. What's your first memory?"

Northern Ireland just shook his head and closed his eyes silently, much to Dr. Thorne's dissatisfaction. Irritably, he flicked the controller to higher level and shocked him again. The nation twitched violently, a pained whimper making it past his lips.

"Are you going to cooperate or not?!" the doctor demanded, drumming the table with his free hand in annoyance.

Northern Ireland threw back his head in a weak hysterical laugh.

"You ... you think you're doing this... for science?" he gasped. "You're crazy. You love... doing this to me... don't you? All you're doing is-Hnnn!" He convulsed as Dr. Thorne shocked him on a higher setting.

"You're wrong!" the doctor snapped. Furiously, he shocked his subject again, feeling a twisted pleasure deep inside of him at the pathetic cry of pain the teenage nation gave this time. Northern Ireland was visibly shaking now, most of his resilience gone.

"You have _no idea_ -" Dr. Thorne took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to regain his calm demeanor. After a moment, he sighed and folded his hands on the table again. He forced himself to smile pleasantly. "I guess we can move on from that question, eh? Let's move straight to the most important one."

He leaned forwards, taking in the pitiful figure his subject cut at the moment. The young nation was trembling violently, panting for breath as he limply hung forwards in his restraints. His ginger bangs were plastered to his forehead with perspiration. Dr. Thorne could see pain and uncertainty now in Northern Ireland's eyes, combating with the fragile resistance the nation had shown earlier.

"Why are you immortal?"

He saw him hesitate again, and followed up smoothly.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just tell me? All we need is the answer to this question, and we'll be done with you." Dr. Thorne raised an eyebrow. "Surely you're not trying to protect the other nations?" He chuckled. "What have they ever done for you?"

He leaned forwards in a conspiring manner. "But if you just tell me what I need to know, I'll stop." The doctor waggled the controller at the nation. "No more pain. Just answer a few questions."

Northern Ireland's face was conflicted. The young nation dropped his head, breaking the eye contact between the two of them. Looking at his subject now, Dr. Thorne felt confident in his success. The nation looked so frail. So young. Helpless.

After a moment of silence, Northern Ireland looked up and stared his interrogator straight in the face. A bright fire was burning behind his emerald eyes. He gave Dr. Thorne his answer.

"Go to hell."

Dr. Thorne stared back blankly. The small flickers of annoyance he had felt earlier had flared into a full blown bonfire. After contemplating the controller he held, he deliberately flipped it to the highest non-lethal setting.

"That was the wrong answer," he said coldly, turning it on. "Let's try again, shall we?"

Northern Ireland screamed.

* * *

 **Wow. I'm good at being dark. Don't know if that's a good thing.**

 **Irish:**

 _ **Le do thoil... Deartháireacha... Cabhraigh liom...**_ **\- Please... Brothers... Please help me...**

 _ **Éire-**_ **Ireland**

 **By the way,** _ **yes**_ **, I know that only 2% of Northern Irelands population speaks Irish. However, it is my personal headcanon that since he has his roots with Ireland, when he thinks of his brothers, he reverts back to Irish. Like the other nations revert back to their first/natural/national language when they're stressed.**

 **Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Gaaaaaah, I'm really sorry this took so long guys! I'll do better next chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

He didn't know if he was going to go through with it.

The man nervously tugged on the bottom of the bulky jacket he wore, scanning the room anxiously. There were so many people in here. Businessmen, mostly. This was an office building.

Getting up again, he walked, as inconspicuously as possible over to the water-cooler by the window. Getting himself a cup of water, he greedily drank, moistening his parched mouth. He glanced out the window. Although he couldn't see past the reflections on the windows, he knew that his co-conspirators were in their respective positions in the adjacent buildings. A few were on the streets as well. He wondered how many of them were there. He wondered if they felt the same way his did.

His co-workers were going about their normal daily routine, completely oblivious to the danger they were all in. He envied their ignorance. _Damn_ , this was hard. It had been ridiculously easy to get past security at the door. No one had noticed the small wires around his torso, the uneven lumps of Semtex underneath under his plaid coat.

He headed back to his desk, tense and twitchy. He muttered a greeting in response as someone greeted him cheerfully.

The man sighed, trying to force down the rising panic. _This isn't my fault_ , he reasoned. _This will make things better. Maybe then, they'll leave her alone._ He stared miserably at the picture on his desk. Her bright, beautiful smile gave him a small glow inside his chest, momentarily gladdening his heart.

A small beep cut through the oppressive silence. Dreading what he would see, he brought the small pager out of his pocket.

HEART IS A GO, the screen read.

Closing his eyes, he pushed the red button. He hoped that God would have mercy on him.

* * *

A cobalt blue flash and a ringing sound signaled the arrival of Scotland's teleportation spell. After a moment, two pairs of soft footsteps made their way towards the clearing.

"Did you trace it?" was Scotland's first question as he and Wales pushed their way past the surrounding brush into the small clearing.

England and Ireland didn't even have to ask what he was talking about. All the brothers were connected, so they had all felt North's silent plea. Ireland's eyes were closed, preparing his next spell, so England answered.

"Yes," the blond nation said, standing up and brushing his hands off. He had been working on the final rune barrier when he had heard his other two older brother's arrival. "Ireland caught the last trace of it. We're just about ready to start the locater spell." England paused and raised his eyebrows, noticing the bundle of papers Wales was holding. "Did you have any success on your part?"

Wales shrugged. "We found some evidence. An unidentified aircraft with no preset destination left Northern Ireland the day after the World Meeting." He handed one of the sheets of paper to England. "It's a small private plane, American made. All the records on it have been removed from the license archives."

England frowned. "So that's it?" he asked in frustration. "That's all you found?"

He was knocked over as Scotland bashed him over the head. "Oi, pipe down and let _Cmyru_ finish," the redhead growled.

The younger brother scowled has he picked himself up and dusted himself off again. Wales rolled his eyes and continued on as though nothing had happened.

"We kept searching for it, and found that it had landed in a private airport in Greenland." He tapped a different sheet of paper. " _And_ we got a name. The man who owns this airport has had it for around 20 years; an Anker Heilmann. Grouchy old tosser. But thanks to Scottie's, ah, _persuasive_ skills"-here Scotland grinned evilly-"he told us that he had been letting a certain gentleman use his airport for the past 10 years. Off the records, naturally. This man got to use his runway in secret, and Ole Heilmann made quite a bit of coin in the process. And that led us to _this_ man."

Wales smoothed out another few pieces of paper. He handed the top one to England. The English nation took it and studied the face in the photograph. A Caucasian man, looking to be in his middle to late 30's, with dark brown hair and eyes.

"Name's Dr. Colin Thorne," Scotland supplied, crossing his arms. "American."

Wales picked up where he left off. "Graduated with honors from a top medical university, highly intelligent, also happens to be rich- though through mysterious circumstances."

"But he's pure mental." Scotland finished bluntly.

"He was diagnosed with sociopathic tendencies, possible bi-polar disorder. Couldn't get a job anywhere." Wales shrugged. "No one wants a quack doctor."

"And you think that he's the one who's behind all this?" England extrapolated, handing the information back to the Welsh nation. Though he hated to admit it, these two had done a very thorough job. Wales and Scotland nodded.

"That's it, we're ready." Behind them, Ireland stood up, interrupting their conversation. "We'll know for sure when we find the bastard." He turned around. "I'm going to- _Albion?!_ " he exclaimed in alarm.

Scotland lunged forwards to catch his younger brother as the English nation stumbled, face deathly white. England coughed, wincing. His hand was pressed over his heart.

"What's wrong?" Wales asked urgently. His own green eyes widened and he winced as well as a growing burning feeling made itself present in his head. Ireland furrowed his brow and tensed as he was similarly affected. Scotland gritted his teeth.

"It's North," England rasped, pushing himself back on his own feet. He was slightly embarrassed at having to be caught by a certain Scottish nation. "His capital- it's being attacked." He flinched again at another burst of pain. If it was this bad for _him_ … He only felt a small fraction of what his brothers felt individually, being the representation of the entire United Kingdom.

"Oh god, _North._ "

* * *

North didn't think that this interrogation session would be any different. All the pain had started to blur together, nothing really stood out anymore. He knew that his refusal to tell anything was merely infuriating his captors, Dr. Thorne in particular. It was like the man had a grudge.

The door swung open, and then shut again as someone entered the room. North didn't open his eyes; he already knew who it was. The doctor's footsteps echoed around the small room as he strode over to the table North was lying on. A rough hand quickly tugged the cuffs around the teenage nation's wrists and ankles, making sure they were still fastened tightly.

"Good to see you haven't gone anywhere." The man's tone was light.

North opened his eyes, flatly staring down the doctor hovering over him. Dr. Thorne didn't flinch. He just smiled that impeccable smile of his.

"Since we weren't getting very far the past few times we've had our little chat, I decided to take a break from that today," the doctor continued pleasantly, sitting himself down in his ever present desk. "We're going to try something a little different."

North just closed his eyes again, exhausted, not even bothering to turn his head to keep looking at his interrogator. It didn't matter if the doctor had decided to mix things up. It was still just going to end up as more pain for him.

Dr. Thorne spoke again. "I've actually been thinking a great deal about this. About your status as a nation, I mean. You must be at least somewhat tied to your lands and people. Can you feel them in your thoughts?"

North bit his lip, staying silent. The reminder of his lands was bringing back memories of home. God, he missed home. How long had he been here? A week? Maybe more? At least he could still feel his country. _That_ , at least, hadn't abandoned him.

"I hope you can. Because then this might actually get a reaction out of you."

North blinked, concerned. _What?_ He twisted his head to the side, trying to see Dr. Thorne clearly. The man was smirking slightly. It was the smile of someone that knew they held all the cards, and was going to take great delight in using them all. He held up a small remote with a conspicuous button on the front, waggling it as if taunting the nation.

"Shall we start?" The doctor pressed the button

North stayed still, not sure what was going on. A faint burning sensation started growing in his chest. His heart...

North threw his head back, suppressing a scream as violent images started pouring through his head. A tall office building, a fiery explosion ripping through the top. People, _his_ people, screaming, burning, dying. He was being attacked. His _heart_ was being attacked. Belfast. The young nation arched his back, gritting his teeth as waves of pain, starting in his chest, flowed through the rest of his body.

"No..." North panted. He coughed. Blood started flooding into his mouth, and he turned his head to the side, gagging and choking. "What are you doing..."

"Simply a little test. Although I must say, I didn't expect to get quite this dramatic of reaction from you. I think we should keep moving in this direction for a while, don't you?"

Another building collapsed. Suicide bombers. North couldn't hold back his shriek of agony as he felt more of his citizens die. He thrashed against his bonds, chest heaving has he coughed up yet more blood.

"WHY?!" the teenage nation screamed, tears running down his face, mixing with the red trails of blood leaking out of his mouth. "THEY'RE INNOCENT! THEY HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING AND YOU'RE KILLING THEM-" He was cut off by a fresh wave of choking, struggling to breathe as his lifeblood poured out of him in astonishing amounts.

North could faintly hear Dr. Thorne over his gagging. The man sounded so damn _calm_ and _pleasant_ and _in control_.

"You have only yourself to blame, you know. If you hadn't resisted my attempts earlier, I wouldn't have been forced to resort to ... more _drastic_ measures."

North let out at choked scream, pulling hard on the leather cuffs restraining him. He could feel them all. He knew all of them, knew their lives, their families. He could feel every bright spark being snuffed out.

"You _monster_ ," he snarled. "How could you do this?! WHY?!" North struggled to keep conscious. Great dark waves of nothingness were pressing against his mind, mixing with the agony of the attacks.

" _I'm_ the monster?" Dr. Thorne's voice had gone flat and cold. North dimly recognized one of the first true displays of emotion from his tormentor. "Oh, no. I don't think you've quite gotten the message yet."

The teenage nation writhed in his bonds as more and more explosions went off. Pain. So, so much pain. His heart was burning. And he couldn't do anything about it. His people were dying, and he could feel their fear and torment. At the edge of shattering, North wept, keening his pain and grief.

"Please..." he begged brokenly. "Stop. Please stop killing my people. Stop hurting them."

He could see the small, slightly sadistic grin on the doctor's face. The man tapped the desk with his forefinger, tilting his head as if contemplating something.

"If I do, will you start answering my questions?" Dr. Thorne asked silkily, with the predatory look of a viper about to strike.

Those words struck North like a physical blow, stunning him enough that the pain was temporarily overrun. His head swung limply to the side, away from the doctor.

He couldn't tell these people about the nations... but if he didn't, more of his people were going to die...

Dimly, North realized that Dr. Thorne had moved. The doctor was standing over him. He felt the man grasp his chin, turning the nation's face upwards. Half-conscious as he was, he didn't make any effort against it.

"Amazing," the doctor murmured, as though half to himself. He studied the nation's features carefully. "You must be in an incredible amount of pain... and yet you're still resisting." North shuddered at the violated feeling of this man's touch on his face. After a moment, Dr. Thorne released him.

"I think you should contemplate this for a while." The doctor's cheerful facade was back in place. North hated it. He could feel the insanity, the not-quite-right about this man, yet the doctor pretended like it didn't exist.

Dr. Thorne opened the door leading out the nightmare room. He turned, right before he left, and directed a sadistic smile at the teenage nation.

"I'll come back in a day or so, and we can really begin to talk." Laughing quietly to himself, Dr. Thorne shut the door with a loud clang, plunging the room into darkness.

Alone again, North gave up on the battle to stay awake. He faded off into unconsciousness, violent images ripping through his already cracked dreams.

* * *

The four brothers stood in their respective places on the outskirts of the complicated magic circle. To the casual observer, it looked as though these four young looking men were meditating, eyes closed, barely breathing. However, the various magical creatures that had come into the area for differing reasons had left abruptly. They could all feel the growing waves of magical power swelling from the nations.

After a few more taut seconds, the brothers opened their eyes. The heavy, magically strengthened silence hovered at its breaking point.

Then it snapped.

Each of the spell casters power flared in unison, lighting up the clearing with vibrant light. The sparks crackled and flared around the ancient runes.

Unseen to the visible world, the nations' consciousness's soared out, sailing rapidly through the leys lines of the land. They tumbled among the strands of earthly energy like leaves in a playful breeze. Searching the world for that one, bright, unique spark.

And far away, among the icy wastes, they found him.

* * *

 _ **Cymru**_ **is Wales in Welsh**

 **Also, Ley lines are Irish. They are basically strings of energy that connect the world.**

 **And if you didn't know, Semtex is a plastic explosive.**

 **Review! Pretty please?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Don't worry people, I have** _ **not**_ **given up on this story! I just hit writers block for a bit. I know how I want it to end, but I just have a little gap of what-the-heck-should-I-write-here before then. So this chapter's a little short, sorry about that.**

* * *

With their discovery, the four brother nations let the magic fade back into the earth. The green sparks played around the runes in small crackles of lightning before disappearing, ending the spell.

As soon as he let go of his magic, England felt drained and exhausted. He wavered a bit on his feet. The pain from the earlier attack combined with his many hours of spell casting beforehand, and now this… his power was pretty much gone. Blinking fuzzily at the ground, the English nation barely heard Wales calling out to him.

"England. _England. Albion._ " Wales caught his arm and steadied him as England stumbled while turning towards his brother in response. "Are you alright?"

England gave the brunette nation a wan smile. "I'll be fine," he assured his brother. He internally winced. His voice sounded horribly weak. "I'm just a bit tired, that's all."

Wales frowned and put his hand on his brother's forehead as though checking for a fever. He grimaced at what he found. " _Albion!_ You're almost completely drained!" Wales scowled at his brother. "How long have you been doing magic today?" the Welsh nation demanded.

England winced. "A few hours?"

Wales huffed. "A few hours, my arse. You've been working the whole day, haven't you?"

"Him and this bloody idjit," Scotland grumbled from behind the duo. The two nations turned around. The Scottish nation was basically holding Ireland upright. The eldest nation's head was slumped forwards, and he seemed to be on the brink of exhaustion. Scotland rapped Ireland none too gently on the head. "Now you two have to rest and recover all that power you've used up today."

"But we found him." Ireland said, looking up hazily. He might have been tired, but his eyes shone fiercely with a victorious light. "We found out where North is." You could see that a great weight seemed to have lifted off all of the nations' shoulders. _They had found their little brother_.

"It does explain the airport in Greenland," England agreed. "It must have all been very well thought out." He shook his head. "I wonder how long that Doctor fellow has been planning all this."

"It doesn't matter how long he's been planning anything," Scotland growled. "All the planning in the world won't help him once we get to him." Scotland never was one for subtlety. He shifted Ireland so that the older nation's arm was across his shoulders, holding onto the Irish nation's waist with the other arm to support him better. He nodded at Wales, who was supporting England in a similar position. "Let's get these two dunderheads home. With them having drained all their magic"-here he directed a fierce scowl at the two of his brothers- "we can't do much until they've recovered."

"Oi," Ireland protested. "I'm still strong enough to kick your arse across the Channel." Scotland just snorted at the threat.

"Sure, sure, twinkle toes, you and whose army?" the redhead nation shot back.

England sighed as the two older nations started arguing fiercely, using the full range of their equally colorful vocabularies. "Why do I put up with you lot?"

"I'm the one who should be asking that question," Wales grumbled, hoisting England into a better position. "You're just as bad as they are."

England flushed red. "I am not! You have no evidence to affirm that statement!"

Wales just rolled his eyes. "Whatever, _brawd bach_. Let's just get home and try to stop those two from doing any serious lasting harm to each other."

* * *

North was dreaming. Sadly, the reason that he knew he was dreaming was because of the fact that he wasn't in pain anymore. He felt rather light, actually, as though his body was made of air.

He almost recognized where he was. He was home, in one of his beloved forests. North ran a hand over the rough bark of one of the trees, relishing in the tangible feeling of it all. He could hear the faint rustlings of the leaves as the wind gently jostled them. Birds gleefully sung their songs.

But at the same time, this was _not_ his home. He couldn't explain the feeling that he had. He just knew that this wasn't his nation. This wasn't Northern Ireland.

"You're right, it's not. Not yet."

With only a mild amount of surprise registering in his dream state, North turned at the sound of a voice.

A tall woman was standing there between the ancient trees. She was beautiful, North thought, in a fierce, wild way. Thick blond hair cascaded over her cloaked shoulders. He could see a long bow and quiver strapped to her back, and a well-used sword at her waist. He had never seen her before in his life (which was not very long compared to the rest of the world's nations, but respectable nevertheless), and at the same time he knew her completely.

North looked the woman straight in the face and was both shocked and not to see bright emerald green eyes staring straight back at him. They were his eyes, the eyes that he and his brothers all shared. They glowed with wisdom and ferocity, but at the same time held that gentle, protective look that only mothers have.

"You're Britannia," North said softly.

She dipped her head at him. "I am."

"Why are you here?" the young nation questioned. "Actually," North looked around again. "Why is any of this here? What am I dreaming of?"

Britannia came forwards, resting her hands on his shoulders. She smiled gently at him, and he felt safe for the first time since he had been kidnapped.

"It was time I spoke to you," she replied. She nodded at the trees around her. "And this is your home as I remember it." She fixed her piercing gaze back on him again. "I've come to help."

"But why?" North asked again, staring up into her face. "I'm not one of your children." He dropped his head, a forlorn feeling running through him. "I'm a mistake," North whispered sadly. "I was never meant to be."

"No." Startled, North glanced back up at the ancient nation. Her face was filled with sorrow, but also with pride. She lifted his chin with one finger. "I may have not been here to see your birth, _Tuaisceart Éireann"-_ he felt a great warmth soothe him as she spoke his name- "but you are my child nonetheless." She shook his shoulders gently. "Don't you _ever_ think that you don't deserve to exist."

North blinked at her. He wanted to believe her _so badly_. "But… my brothers-"

"They love you," Britannia told him firmly. "They are coming for you now." A fiery burst of pride flashed through her eyes. "My sons are all warriors born, and they do not leave their own to the mercy of carrion-eaters."

Before he knew it, North had thrown himself forwards and embraced her. He pressed his face into the coarse fabric of her cloak. A tear rolled down his cheek. Britannia simply stood still and held him in her arms, letting him cry.

Britannia pulled North down carefully to the ground, resting her back against the trunk of a tree between several gnarled roots. She held North as he leaned against her, taking comfort in her presence. Many minutes went by with North just enjoying the feeling of being safe and having a mother looking after him.

"M-mother?" North finally asked, afraid of calling her that for the fear of being told wrong. Britannia just smiled to herself. "Yes?"

"All of my brothers have magic. Why don't I? Is it because I was created in the modern era?"

She looked down at him in sympathy. "What made you believe you don't have magic?"

North looked upwards at her face in surprise. "I've tried using it, and _Albion_ and _Alba_ and _Cymru_ have all tried teaching me. They never found any evidence of magical power." He sighed and rested his head on her chest. "I guess I just assumed I didn't have any magic."

"You never went to _Éire_?"

North shook his head, a frown making its way onto his face. "We don't get along very well. And _Albion_ doesn't really like me having any contact with _Éire_ since he left the UK."

Britannia gave a short laugh. " _Albion_ was always the controlling one. He did become quite a powerful empire." She sighed. "But you _do_ have magic, _Tuaisceart Éireann_."

North sighed as well. "Then why have I never been able to use it?" he asked despondently.

Britannia gently rubbed his back in small circles. "It's locked deep inside you, and only you can find it and unlock it."

"How will I know if I've found it?" North asked. He felt like a small child again in her presence. His _mother's_ presence. He had never thought that he would say that.

"You'll know."

North gazed out at the dimly lit trees surrounding them. With a small feeling of fear growing in him, he noticed that the edges were fading to white. He was waking up.

Britannia saw it as well, and exhaled slowly. "It's my time to leave."

"Wait!" North scrambled to his feet, turning around to face the ancient nation. She rose gracefully from the mossy ground, once more towering above him. He felt his eyes well up with tears again. "Will I ever see you again?"

Britannia smiled at him. She cupped his face with her hand. "Yes," she told him, a proud look on her face. "Be strong for me, my little warrior."

North smiled tentatively back at her. She nodded in approval and withdrew from him, pulling her cloak around her. The white mist swirled around her form, and she faded.

North closed his eyes, fixing the feeling of her warmth firmly in his mind. Before he woke up, he swore that he would remain strong.

Then his eyes opened, and he was back in hell.

* * *

 **Okay, so this chapter is so short because it's basically right before the rescue. Fear not, valiant readers! The next chapter will be MUCH longer.**

 **Also, to all you lovely reviewers that were horrified at what I was doing to poor North, is that better? Everyone needs some motherly comfort.**

 **In case you haven't figured it out: Albion is England, Alba is Scotland, Cymru is Wales, Éire is Ireland, and Tuaisceart Éireann is Northern Ireland.**

 **Please review! I usually faint out of happiness every time I get one. Even if it's criticism.**


	7. Chapter 7

The frigid wind cut deeply into their bodies the instant they materialized. It howled harshly in their ears, as if offended that these four had dared to step foot in its icy, treacherous domain.

England swore softly under his breath and pulled his coat tightly around himself. "Damn, that's cold."

Wales whacked him on the arm. "Of course it's cold; it's the bloody Arctic Circle, you imbecile."

The two bickered half-heartedly, more focused on their current mission than the usual arguments.

Ireland turned on the spot, scanning the frozen wasteland around them. "Where is it?" he said in frustration. "His magic signature originated from here. Any complex where North is being held should be nearby."

"There." Scotland pointed off to their right. A sprawling group of buildings, almost invisible in the stark whiteness, stretched out beneath them in a large gorge.

Scotland leaned over the edge, keen eyes taking in the structure. He took in the guard's complexes situated alongside every building, the watch towers spiking up out of the snow, and the conveniently fortified position with an expert eye. He looked sidelong at his brothers as they joined him along the cliff.

"Generally," the Scottish nation started with a nonchalant air. "When I see this many guards surrounding one place, I tend to think that the owners of said place might have something to hide." His eyes hardened. "I vote for a direct approach."

Wales chewed his lip thoughtfully as he contemplated the complex. "If we attacked from that side," he said, pointing underneath the closest guard tower. "We'd have at least three minutes before any other guards reached that spot. Enough time to take out the tower and get in."

Ireland nodded. "You're right." He fingered the hilt of his knife with a gloved hand, as though impatient to start using it.

They all knew that speed was the key in this assault. They needed to get in, find their brother, and get out before anything else could be done to him. And while they _were_ basically immortal, running into the full strength of the other side's forces would slow them down a great deal. Bullet wounds were fairly painful.

They were _so close_. Since Ireland had mentioned it, their youngest brother was starting to have a faint presence in their minds. He was here. They just needed to get to him.

After sharing wordless looks of communication, the four brothers started down the steep, treacherous cliff face, trying not to slip on the slick, jagged ice that protruded from the gorge's rough walls.

* * *

North could feel them the moment they arrived.

Tearing himself from the dark, blissfully pain-free place that was unconsciousness was difficult, but he forced himself torturously into the waking world. He moaned softly as the overwhelming pain and exhaustion crashed down on him once again as his eyes blinked open. North focused fuzzily on the same ceiling that he had been staring at for the past few days.

He licked his chapped lips dully, dimly recognizing the lack of the coppery taste of blood. Someone must have cleaned his face while he had been out. North cringed, a little disturbed by that thought.

The realization of why he had woken up slowly crept up on him. They were here. His brothers had actually come. For _him_. North closed his eyes and smiled, as small bubble of hope growing in his chest.

But right now, he needed to get out of this room. Looking up, North tugged on the cuffs that bound his wrists to the table. They didn't move. North gritted his teeth and yanked as hard as he could on them, ignoring the pain from his abused wrist bones. He was alarmed by the weakness prevailing in his limbs. Dark spots were already swimming before his eyes at the sudden burst of effort he had given. Even if he did get off the table, he doubted he could stand, let alone run.

Huffing a deep sigh, North rested his head back on the table. For perhaps the hundredth time since he had been captured and thrown into this nightmare, North fervently wished that he had control over magic like his brothers did. This wouldn't have happened to _them_.

Mother Britannia's words echoed in his ears. _But you do have magic, Tuaisceart Éireann._ _It's locked deep inside you, and only you can find it and unlock it._

The teenage nation blinked at the ceiling, remembering.

"That doesn't do me any good if I can't find it," he said, his voice soft and raspy from screaming. The words faded into the dark room without any echoes.

North sighed and closed his eyes again. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mind the way his brothers had taught him and looked deep inside himself. He searched for anything different, anything new, _anything_ that might indicate magic. But he just found the emptiness of his own mind. Frustrated, he rolled his head to the side. This was useless.

A distant explosion rattled his thoughts. He could hear men shouting. Heavy feet rushed past his room, accompanied by the clanking and clattering of weapons.

Once again, North smiled.

* * *

The guard tower exploded, raining flaming debris down upon the surrounding people.

Scotland grunted in appreciation. "Nice one, _Cymru_." He carelessly ran one of guards unfortunate enough to be closest to him through with a swift thrust of his claymore.

Wales simply nodded, eyes narrowed in concentration as he finished his spell. The red and gold flames curled playfully around his fingers. Pivoting, he thrust his hands forcefully towards a pair of guards running towards him. The flames soared from his outstretched hands with a roar. One of the men shrieked as the fire completely engulfed the two of them. Wales clapped his hands together as though brushing dirt off and drew his own sword, searching for his next target.

Ireland threw one of the men against the wall of the building with a snarl, advancing quickly. The man recovered and brought his gun up, firing a round of shots at the Irish nation. Ireland grimaced and threw up a swirling green shield with one hand. The bullets sank into the magic and stayed, hovering in midair. The guard's eyes widened in shock. Then they went blank and lifeless as the nation stabbed him through the chest with his _scian_. Ireland moved on.

A particularly large guard went after England, who backed up with a smirk, letting the man come towards him. The man seemed to have the idea that this nation was the weakest, due to being the shortest. This theory was disproved. The English nation sidestepped the gun shot from the rifle and lunged forwards, twisting the gun out of the human's hands. He finished the motion with a spinning pivot and slammed the butt of the rifle fiercely into the back of the man's neck. The guard dropped like a stone.

Scotland got to the side door first. Eyes blazing, he viciously cut down the one of the remaining guards, barely sparing the dying man a glance. The redheaded nation eyed the door with narrowed eyes. A dark blue aura swirled dangerously around him. The next moment saw the door (and most of the wall) shattering inwards from a murderous magically-augmented kick. Scotland swiftly turned back to his brothers.

"Come on!" he barked.

Ireland followed first, leaping over the smoldering wreckage as lightly as the deer of his homeland. Wales and England entered the building just as swiftly, with England covering the rear with the rifle he had procured. Scotland eyed the modern weapon with a small amount of distaste.

"Afraid of getting your hands dirty?"

England just smirked, reloading the gun with quick, deft movements that spoke of years of experience.

"Oh, don't worry," the blond nation scoffed. "My hands will be fine while they're taking out that guard you didn't notice before he shoots off that bloody oversized head of yours."

Scotland raised an eyebrow back at his younger brother, unperturbed by the saucy response.

"Oi, come on then." Ireland called back impatiently.

The four of them continued through the white corridors of the facility.

* * *

The alarms blared their emotionless warning all throughout the facility, red lights flashing off of the white walls. Personnel ran through the corridors. Some of them were troops of guards that were moving to get to the point of the break-in in an attempt to halt the attackers. The rest were scientists and medical personnel that were panicking and running about, trying to get their data stored and machines saved before getting outside to the runway. They were evacuating, just in case the security personnel couldn't hold the intruders.

And then there was Dr. Thorne.

The doctor stopped and sidestepped as another squadron of security guards went rushing past. He scowled as they unintentionally pressed him into the wall due to the cramped corridor space. _It's largely thanks to them that this operation is as successful as it is, but if I didn't need them I'd get rid of them all in a heartbeat._

Dr. Thorne had been in the security room when the alarms went off. He had quickly checked the cameras that viewed the entire facility for the cause. And what had he found?

More nations.

At first, he hadn't been able to believe it. He had simply stared in stupefied silence at the screen, watching. Watching the ruthless efficiency in which they cut down his forces. The speed in which they managed to get inside. And the impossible. Was that… _magic_?

He had been surprised at how quickly he had accepted the magic part. Maybe a part of his mind screamed for the acceptance of this fact because of his failures in finding anything concrete about the illusive immortality that his subject bore. Surely, if it was magic… then he was not failing! He just needed to go in a different direction…

Preferably away from this facility. It was currently in shambles.

First he needed to retrieve his subject. All of the guards were currently indisposed, so he would have to do it himself. But he was confident that his forces could hold the nations off for a least a few more minutes-

With an ear-piercing boom, the door at the end of the hallway exploded and sent fiery shrapnel flying everywhere. The unfortunate front row of personnel that had just gone by was caught full force by the blast. They were thrown to the floor, many pierced with the sharp debris that had been hurled at them with super speed.

The nations stepped through the hole they had just created in the wall.

These four carried even more of that ancientness than his current subject. They fairly _glowed_ with it. They held medieval weapons for the most part, although the blond one seemed to have gotten his hand on a guard's assault rifle. The incompetent fools.

Dr. Thorne's keen gaze didn't miss the fury in their bright green eyes, nor the drops of blood that stained their weapons and clothing. His subject was restrained and under control. He did not want to deal with these wild nations. He had things to do.

Quickly, before the nations saw him, Dr. Thorne ducked in a side door. He kept his back pressed against the wall in the darkness, barely breathing as he listened to the sounds of battle that continued out in the corridor. The nations were working their way down the hall into the heart of his facility. No doubt they were looking for their fellow nation.

Dr. Thorne waited until the clashing and screaming had died down and gotten much further away before he dared to move. He cautiously opened the door to peek out. Carnage met his gaze.

The entire squadron, 15 men, was completely slaughtered down to the last man. The doctor gazed at the blood-soaked bodies for a moment. Those faint flares of anger were starting to boil up inside him again.

 _How dare they?_ _How dare they come here, and think that they can just take my subject away?! No! I've worked far too hard to let all this come to ruin now! I won't allow it!_

Unaware of the angered sneer on his face, the doctor dropped to one knee and searched the closest corpse. Handcuffs. The dead man's pistol. He took those two items and stood back up, tucking them both into his belt. He thought for a moment and patted his pockets. He found the syringe he was looking for, and then returned it to his pocket.

Unfortunately for the group of nations, they were going the wrong way. Dr. Thorne turned down a side corridor and headed for his subject.

* * *

The door wasn't locked. Dr. Thorne hadn't thought there would be any need for it. After all, how was the nation going to escape?

He hadn't visited in over a day, and the room was exactly as he had left it. Dr. Thorne opened the heavy metal door, checking cautiously over his shoulder to make sure there weren't any rampaging nations storming up behind him. Satisfied that he was alone, he swiftly entered the room.

Northern Ireland was yanking on the cuffs that were keeping his hands fastened to the table when the doctor came in. The young nation looked exhausted and sickly, but was determinedly working his wrists around in an attempt to free them. At Dr. Thorne's entrance, his ginger head snapped around, fixing his gaze on him. The doctor could see the faint light of hope in his subject's eyes fade to surprise and dismay as the nation recognized the figure coming towards him.

Stopping in front of the table, Dr. Thorne searched his pockets in irritation. He seemed to have lost the syringe again.

"You're going to lose."

Startled, the doctor scowled at his subject. "What did you say to me?" Dr. Thorne snapped.

"My brothers are here." The corner of the young nation's mouth lifted in a hint of a weak grin. "They found me, and they're going to deal with you. When they all work together…" the young nation was interrupted by a small coughing fit. When he got his breath back-"When they all work together, there's nothing that can stop them."

Dr. Thorne found his syringe and yanked it out of his pocket, practically simmering with rage. He grasped the nation's chin, looking him straight in the eyes. Northern Ireland's eyes widened and his breath hitched as he came to a realization of what the man was doing. "They're not getting you back," the doctor snarled. "We're leaving right now-" he expertly checked the tip-"And there is nothing that can stop that from happening."

Dr. Thorne roughly forced his subject's head to the side so that the vulnerable underside of the nation's throat was exposed. Northern Ireland flinched and struggled to get away from him, but there was nothing he could do with his wrists and ankles bound.

"No! Get away from-" the nation shuddered as the needle pierced the side of his neck, dumping its malignant contents into his bloodstream.

Dr. Thorne withdrew the needle and stepped back a pace, waiting for the sedative to do its job. It had taken him a while to perfect this cocktail of drugs and narcotics. Normal strength sedatives didn't do much, but this particular mixture worked on the young nation like an ordinary dosage on a human.

The doctor watched with satisfaction at the way Northern Ireland's eyes blurred as drowsiness took over. The nation weakly shook his head as he tried to fight off the effects. In the end though, he lost the battle to stay conscious and his body went limp in his restraints.

After taking a moment to affirm that his subject was indeed unconscious, Dr. Thorne quickly set about unbuckling the leather cuffs. The doctor heaved the young nation up into a sitting position, ignoring the dried blood that still stained his bare torso. Northern Ireland's head swung listlessly to the side in response to the motion. Pulling his subject's wrists behind his back, the doctor cuffed them together with the handcuffs he had taken off the guard earlier. Dr. Thorne cinched them tight and contemplated Northern Ireland for a moment. As an afterthought, he used the bandanna he had with him to gag the nation as well. If they _did_ run into the four nations ( _brothers_ , wasn't _that_ fascinating) he wanted to be completely in control of the situation.

Now to get out of there. Stooping, Dr. Thorne managed to sling his subject over his shoulders in an improvised fireman's carry. He was mildly surprised at how light the young nation was. He supposed it made sense. After all, the Northern Ireland hadn't been very large to begin with, and two weeks of no food had left him frail and weak.

Dr. Thorne headed for the door, fairly unencumbered by his captive. He checked the hallway before stepping out into the open and hurrying as fast as he could in the direction of the hangar.

* * *

They hadn't come across any guards for several minutes now.

Ireland kicked the door in to yet another room, suspiciously scanning it before he entered. His brothers followed him in warily.

Wales searched the desks and cabinets that were stacked against the wall while England's attention was caught by the many computer screens that were displaying various images from all over the facility. Slinging his rifle over his back, he approached the computers.

"Control room?" Ireland asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Apparently," came England's reply.

Scotland snorted from where he was leaning against the wall. He was running a cloth over the blood-stained length of his claymore with a detached air. Having finished that task and scrutinized the gleaming blade one last time, the redhead sheathed it.

"Does that mean that we can find more of these bastards to kill? Because I don't think I'm quite done yet."

" _Alba_ ," Ireland said softly, not looking up from the computers he and England were studying. Scotland tightened his jaw and just nodded. The other brothers knew he didn't really mean it. The Scottish nation was simply troubled by their lack of progress so far.

England tapped one of the monitors, drawing Ireland attention to it. "Look," the English nation stated. "This explains why we haven't seen anybody for a while. They're evacuating."

Ireland leaned closer, frowning as he took in the small colored feed that was showing groups of people moving with reasonable haste towards various vehicles that seemed to be in an underground hangar. They looked mostly like scientists or doctors. Many of them had white coats on, and had bundled up hastily.

"That's a lot more people than I thought would be here." Ireland's face was grim. "Our Dr. Thorne has been pretty extensive in his recruiting. Speaking of the devil…" he said, glancing down at his brother. "Have you seen him yet on any of these?"

England frowned in concentration as he tapped a few more commands in the computers. The screens cycled, flashing through different rooms and corridors, all mostly empty now. "No, I haven't. I tried looking at some of the basic labs, but-"

A particularly harsh Welsh swear word cut through whatever he had been about to say.

Scotland glanced up from where he had been re-polishing his sword, a surprised eyebrow raised. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard _that_ particular word choice come from the most level-headed of the Britannia brothers…

His momentary amusement was sharply cut away as he took in the expression on his brother's face. Wales's face was stark white and his green eyes were blazing with a dragon-like fire. His fingers shook slightly where they clutched a sheaf of papers he had found in one of the cabinets.

The two nations monitoring the computers had also glanced over in a mixture of mild surprise and humor. Both were taken aback at the Welsh nation's sudden rage. Ireland straightened up in concern.

" _Cymru_?" Ireland asked in trepidation. "What did you find?"

Wales swallowed hard, clenching a fist. He pointed at the words printed dispassionately on the page. "These tests…" He seemed to have trouble finding the rights words to say. "They're ones they did one North."

Everyone else's eyes widened at that. Scotland shoved himself off the wall immediately, and yanked a few papers out of Wales's hand. The Welsh nation didn't even react to that. He just kept staring at the papers he had retained.

Scotland read the first few lines of the tests and their results and his face went just as white as his brother's. His breath hitched in his throat.

"It's like a concentration camp," Wales whispered hoarsely. The room went deathly quiet as the other two that hadn't seen the records understood the implications of that statement.

"Those… those…" Ireland couldn't seem to come up with a sufficiently dirty term to express his feelings in this matter. His face tightened. A colder rage than the one Wales had shown was settling in. "I'm going to burn this whole place to the _ground_ ," he snarled. Scotland growled in agreement.

"We need to find North _now_." England had turned back to the computers and was savaging searching the video feeds again. His fingers fairly flew over the keyboard as he keyed in commands. His first finger paused over one button as he recognized something.

On the video screen, a dark-haired man was hurrying down an empty hallway in what seemed to be the general direction all the other personal had taken. And over his shoulder…

A familiar ginger-haired form hung limply in the man's grasp.

"North!" England shouted, springing to his feet. He checked the feed again, noting the specific hallway and direction the man-was that Dr. Thorne?- was taking. His brothers had paused at his exclamation and crowded around him, looking at the screen as well. "He's heading for the last hangar," England said urgently.

Almost in the same movement, the four brother nations were out the door and running down the hallway in the same direction as fast as they could manage. They all hoped, _prayed_ , that they would get there in time.

They couldn't lose him again.

* * *

 **No notes this time. Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

North was so completely tired of being drugged.

He remembered that Dr. Thorne had come in again while he had been trying to get out of his restraints. He had been trying to get away when the needle had pricked his neck, sending a cold, drowsy feeling swirling up into his mind, drowning out his protests. A deep blackness had encroached on his consciousness, but he had been fighting it _so_ hard, because he couldn't let it happen, not _again_ , not when they were this close…

He knew he was unconscious. He didn't know _how_ he knew. He just did.

There was a faint light dancing in front of him. It reminded him of a small green firefly, the way it danced about in his mind. It teased him in his efforts to catch it, playfully twinkling in the darkness.

Straining, North reached out for the light. He strove to catch it, for a reason that he wasn't entirely sure of. It just felt like a part of him. That light was important.

And finally, carefully, he caught it.

A warm glow of light blazed through his mind. It flooded his entire being like a gentle rainstorm, reminding him of home and safety. North felt it settle in his heart, filling a void that he didn't even know had existed in the first place.

Tentatively, North prodded the newfound glow. It flickered in response. In a movement that seemed as familiar as it was foreign, he grasped a small bit of the light with his mind.

North woke up.

* * *

The first thing that registered was the pain and the weakness, unfortunately. North's body was still limp and his head still spun, even after that unusual experience inside his head. The young nation winced, not opening his eyes. He had never had his heart attacked like that before… He had heard from his brothers the dangers of having your nation heart damaged. It affected a nation like nothing else did. He also had a nagging feeling that there was something else about it that was important-but the pounding in his head made it hard to think straight. The next thing that he recognized was that he was over someone's shoulder. The man's gait was fairly swift, and it rocked him back and forth with the motions of his footsteps. Blinking his eyes open, North was greeted by the sight of Dr. Thorne heels as they clicked sharply against the smooth white floor.

A sharp pain in his wrists combined with cold metal told him his hands were cuffed behind his back. The dry and dusty taste in his mouth was from the gag.

Did he mention that he really hated being restrained?

A small flare of panic leapt up in his chest for a moment. Just when he was about to be rescued, he was being taken away again! His fear, which had had a steady presence in the back of his mind since the first day, surged forwards in a sudden overwhelming swell.

North's heartbeat pounded in his ears as his breath quickened. Breathing hard through his nose, he closed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to clamp down on the terror. It roared unbidden through his thoughts, and North trembled.

At the sudden movement, Dr. Thorne halted in surprise. North felt the doctor's shoulders tense.

"Impossible," the doctor muttered to himself in astonishment. A pause stilled the air.

North kicked out with his legs, catching his captor in the stomach. The man doubled over, gasping for breath. North, still fueled by the panic running through his veins, took advantage of the moment to struggle against the Dr. Thorne's grip on him. The doctor stumbled, and his hold on North broke.

North landed hard on his back on the icy floor. His breath was knocked out of him in the impact, and he laid there for a second, struggling to breath past the constricting cloth around his mouth.

Dr. Thorne stood in the same stop for a moment as well, holding his middle with a vexed grimace on his face. After recovering slightly, the man snarled and grabbed North by the upper arm, pulling him to his feet. North wavered unsteadily. Dark spots were swimming before his eyes again, and his whole body ached.

"You _can't_ be awake," Dr. Thorne hissed, shaking him. "The dosage was perfect. It's impossible." North's head snapped back limply at the violent movement. Hazily, as though through a veil, he saw the doctor's expression. The man's teeth were bared, and the madness that had always danced hidden in his eyes was frighteningly visible.

Then, a twitch of his face, and that expression was gone, like a slate wiped blankly clean. His smile was back, and somehow, North found that more terrifying than the animalistic snarl he had seen moments before.

"No matter." Dr. Thorne pulled the young nation back upright. He started down the hallway again. North legs almost gave out from under him as they went, but the firm grip on his arms told him that if he didn't walk, he would be dragged. "We're almost there anyways."

About a minute of this found the two of them at a last door. It was already cracked open, and Dr. Thorne merely shoved it open with one hand. It swung open, revealing a dimly lit cavernous space. North first saw the plane. Then the implication of it hit him, and he dug his heels into the floor in a last-ditch attempt of resistance. He knew how weak he currently was, and that Dr. Thorne seemed to have an unnatural amount of frenzied strength at the moment. He knew that the doctor would probably just carry him again, and there would be little he could do about it.

But there was no way _in hell_ that he was going to go _willingly_.

The unexpected defiance halted the taller man for a second. A few moments were spent with them grappling back and forth in a vastly unbalanced tug of war. With an exasperated huff, Dr. Thorne finished the fight by wrapping his arms around North and bodily dragging him across the floor. With his shoulders forced uncomfortably back, the sharp edges of the handcuffs cut viciously into North's wrists. The nation's yelp of pain was muffled by the gag.

They made it halfway across the hangar.

"NORTH!"

A harsh chorus of voices cut through the mostly silent air. North's bowed head jerked up in recognition. Through his foggy gaze, he could see his brothers as they charged through the carelessly thrown ajar door into the hangar. Through their close contact, North felt Dr. Thorne stiffen.

His gaze ran over them as they fanned out. Scotland first, with his flaming head of hair matching the blood staining his blue uniform a little _too_ well. His face was contorted in fury, and his entire being was reminiscent of the fierce Scottish warriors that he represented. A step behind him stood Wales, who, as North was startled to see, had an identical look of rage on his face.

He swept his view to the side, and spotted England, whose rifle was up and pointed in their direction. His eyes were narrowed coldly as he looked down the barrel. And by his side…

North's eyes widened. Ireland stood ready, his old _scian_ dirk out and poised. A more passionate look than North had ever seen on his oldest brother was etched on the Irish nation's face. A faint glow of warmth bloomed in his chest.

North was roughly cut off from his surprised reverie by the doctor, who had not missed the arrival of the older nations. Dr. Thorne quickly jerked North around so that the young nation's back was pressed to him. One arm went around North's chest and arms, tightly restraining him. When the nations had gotten within 15 meters, a new factor entered.

North froze as he felt the cold muzzle of a gun press to his temple.

"Stop." Dr. Thorne's voice was light and pleasant, a stark and frightening contrast to the words he spoke. "Or I'll put a bullet in his head."

North's heartbeat sped up again at the feeling. He tilted his head to the side, away from the weapon, but Dr. Thorne just jammed the gun harder into the side of his head. North's breath hitched. He could still see his brothers as they came to a halt about 10 meters away.

Scotland and Ireland's eyes were narrowed. Wales looked a bit more shocked and worried at this latest development. England had the same icy look as before, with his gun still trained on the doctor.

"Get away from him." Scotland's voice was low and dangerous, a growl hidden in his words.

North felt, rather than saw the doctor smile.

"Or what? No, I don't think so." He tapped North's arm slightly. "Northern Ireland and I here have some unfinished business I need to take care of." His grip tightened. "Besides, I have no doubt that you would kill me where I stood the instant I let go."

Scotland shrugged. His glittering gaze stated in no uncertain terms that that was exactly what he had been thinking. The other three's looks were slightly less revealing.

"If you are planning to keep us back because of the immediate threat on Northern Ireland's life, I shall have to inform you that it will not work." England, ever the cold and logical had spoken up. The words were flippant, but his tone was tight and hid a deeper emotion. His brow was furrowed uncomfortably. He paused, looking pained for a flickering moment. Then the English nation set his jaw. "You undoubtedly know by now that he cannot die."

North felt the doctor nod thoughtfully. "Yes, I do know that. In fact, I had a most interesting and entertaining time discovering that fact." The young nation shuddered and closed his eyes tightly at the reminder. He heard a low snarl from one of his brothers in response. The gun pressed more firmly into his temple.

"But, I believe that you are unawares of a fact that you may have overlooked in this situation." A pause. "Or you hoped that I did not know it. It was hard to find, but I did my research long and well. I was very thorough."

Ireland spoke up for the first time. "What are you talking about?" His voice was flat, betraying no emotion.

A hint of satisfaction crept into Dr. Thorne's voice. "I attacked his nation heart." Another pause. "Oh, so you _did_ know! Is it because you are brother nations, or simply because it was public? I assume both."

North opened his eyes again. A look at the other nations told him their reactions. Ireland was impassive, but the other three had faint flickers of worry mixing in with the anger in their expressions.

"Don't move." Dr. Thorne directed this sudden harsh statement at Ireland, whose dark green magic had started creeping in swirls around his feet. "The moment I see any aggression-magic or otherwise- I'll pull the trigger." He nodded in England's direction. "So put that down."

England hesitated for a moment.

Dr. Thorne sighed. Then, in a sharp motion, he brought the gun back and viciously cracked it into the back of North's head. North's head snapped forwards at the blow. He felt his body go slack in the doctor's grip, and moaned softly as his vision went blurry.

"I won't tell you again," the doctor said pleasantly, setting the gun back against North's temple, unperturbed by the involuntary cries of outrage from the other nations. "Do I need to give another demonstration?"

England swore and carefully set his gun down. He stood back up, glaring at the doctor. Dr. Thorne nodded in satisfaction.

"Thank you. This actually brings me back to the aforementioned point so conveniently brought up by dear England." He nodded again at the faintly startled look on their faces at the correct statement of the blond nation's identity. "It wasn't that hard to guess. This one here"- the cold metal pulled away for a second to tap a flinching North lightly on the head before resuming its original position- "mentioned that you were his brothers, so that would make you the British Isles, would it not?"

He was met with flinty stares. "Anyways, as I said before, I attacked his capital. Belfast. What you lot refer to as your heart. And I found a _very_ interesting theory on that."

North felt an ominous feeling swirling up inside him. A memory from days long past floated up into his mind. It was when he had been very little, and one of the limited times he had really spent time with Ireland.

 _Ireland was holding him on his lap, gently rubbing his back. North had woken up crying from a nightmare, and his older brother had been with him until he had fallen back asleep._

 _"Now, now, lad," the Irish nation murmured soothingly. "What's with you?"_

 _"I had a scary dream!"_

 _"What was it about?"_

 _Little North hiccupped and pressed his face into his older brother's shirt._

 _"You… died." North sniffed. "You, and Alba, and Cymru, and Albion… I was all alone!"_

 _He felt Ireland sigh, and his hand stroke his hair._

 _"I…_ can _happen." The older nation admitted unwillingly, not wanting to tell his youngest brother anything but the truth. "We, as nations,_ can _die." He looked down at North, an urgent look on his face. "You need to know that. Protect your heart,_ Tuaisceart Éireann _, because if it is attacked, your body will become weak. You will be able to die. Protect your heart at_ any _cost. Understand?"_

 _North nodded, eyes wide and worried. Ireland sighed again. He shifted so that he held North tighter to his chest._

 _"But don't worry North. I promise-" North felt his older brother's lips brush the top of his head. "I promise that I will never leave you. You can always depend on me."_

 _"Promise?" North asked sleepily, his eyes already drooping shut again._

 _"Promise."_

The memory faded back into the dark recesses of his mind. The entire flashback spanned only a second. North felt surprised at the caring his eldest brother had shown in his memory. But that turned icy when he truly recalled what Ireland had told him.

He could die.

He was going to die.

North's body seized up, a faint tremor running down his spine. Dr. Thorne felt it.

"Oh, look, even he knows. He can die now." The doctor tightened his grip on the gun as the four brothers took an instinctive step forwards. "Ah ah ah. Didn't you just hear what I said? If I pulled this trigger right now, and buried this bullet deep in his brain, he'd be dead. For good this time. No bringing him back, no miracle resuscitations. He'd be dead." The doctor's voice took on a slightly hysterical cast. " _Just like he should be."_

All the nations present tensed as they felt the sharp change in the doctor's demeanor. Dr. Thorne laughed, and it echoed throughout the spacious hangar dementedly.

"Why?" Dr. Thorne giggled. "Why don't you die?" His chuckles continued.

The four older nations were wary now at this abrupt spiral into hysteria. Wales took a chance and cautiously crept forwards a bit, closing the distance.

" _Stop moving!_ " Dr. Thorne practically screamed. In a furious movement, his arm came up from North's chest to around the nation's throat, cutting off his air. North choked, his head forced back into the hard edge of the handgun. Wales froze.

North closed his eyes as he fought to breathe. His fear had come back full blast.

 _Please_ , he thought desperately. _Make him go away. I want him to go away, get away, get away, get away…_

"How?!" the doctor demanded. "It's not logical, it doesn't make any sense! Why…"

The doctor's voice faded into the background. The only things North were aware of were the deep thrumming in his ears and his own frantic chant to himself. _Send him away, send him away, send him away…_

The glow was back.

A blazing surge of energy curled up through his chest. His chant faltered for a second, and the light dimmed with it as well. Then he started it up again, and it swirled in response to his words.

The doctor stopped his rant as he noticed the faint gleam of light coming from his captive. He blinked, mouth agape, looking completely shocked. Quickly though, he recovered and tightened his grip on the young nation's throat, forcing North to look up at him. North's eyes were wide and staring at nothing as they continued to glow. "What are you doing?!" Dr. Thorne shrieked. "Stop it!"

Ireland inhaled sharply as he took in the sight. He knew that North had reached out, but he hadn't thought… Was he...?

North's mantra had reached a climax. In a final, overwhelming burst of energy, he pushed all of strength into one, clear, thought.

 _GO AWAY._

A pale green storm of light erupted between Dr. Thorne and North. Its power broke the doctor's grip on the young nation, sending them apart in one explosive movement. The initial surge almost knocked North over, and he stumbled, but twisted so that he was facing the doctor again. Dimly, he could hear his brother's cries as they started forwards again. They were driven back, unable to make any headway against a fierce wind that had suddenly sprung upout of nowhere, whirling around North and Dr. Thorne.

The man's face was astonished. The energy-magic, North realized- swirled around his body, pulling him back. Dr. Thorne glanced over his shoulder, and paled as he realized he was being dragged into an ominous vortex.

"No," Dr. Thorne panted. His brow furrowed angrily, and he brought his gun up, aiming for North. "You can't…"

"NORTH!"

North _heard_ the warning, and he _knew_ the danger. But he could barely move, and couldn't let go of whatever spell he had cast despite the rapidly waning feeling of power in his limbs. His body trembled from the effort of maintaining it, and he felt like his soul was being ripped out of his body.

There was the crack of a gunshot, and a sledgehammer of pain struck him in the ribs. It barely registered.

With one final flare, the magic pulled Dr. Thorne in. North could see the insane expression on his face as he fought against the strands, the whole while giggling-"Impossible! Impossible! Imposs-"

Then he was gone.

The final twinkles of magic circled themselves for a moment, and then they disappeared too. The wind died away.

North stood frozen to spot.

He… he had used _magic_. Dr. Thorne was _gone_ , his brothers were here, he was _alive_ \- A vicious explosion of pain hit him in the side. He… had been _shot_.

The newfound pain, combined with the aftereffects from the past two weeks and this latest development- it was too much. All the life and will to exist left North's body in a rush. He was falling, and the familiar darkness rushed up to meet him.

The last thing he heard was his brothers calling his name.

* * *

Ireland reacted the swiftest. The moment he saw North fall, he leapt forwards, covering the expanse between him and his youngest brother in a heartbeat. Sliding at the last second, he managed to catch North's upper body before it hit the ground.

"North!" he cried, losing his composure for a moment. He cradled his unconscious brother as the other three nations caught up. "Oh, _le do thoil, Thuaidh..._ "

Gently, Wales pulled off the gag covering North's mouth. The youngest nation's head lolled limply to the side. He looked horrible. North's skin tone, which had always been pale, was now deathly white, and he had dark haggard circles under his eyes. His chest barely rose and fell with his breathing, and there was the angry bullet wound puncturing his right side that was steadily weeping blood. The Welsh nation brushed North's ginger bangs off his forehead, wincing at how cold he was. "He's still breathing," Wales said urgently.

"Here." England knelt and placed a hand on the young nation's chest, careful not to touch the wound. A whispered word, and a white glow spread out from his fingers, sinking into North's skin. North gave a shuddering gasp, and then fell back further into Ireland's arms, his breathing evening out. England then reached out, his fingers still glowing, and snapped the handcuffs that bound the younger nation's bloody wrists. North's arm's fell limply to his sides.

"We need to get home, now." Scotland spoke up, his eyes smoldering in rage as he took in the pitiful sight North cut at the moment. England shrugged off his coat and pressed it to the gunshot wound to staunch the steady flow of blood.

Scotland knelt and carefully picked North up, cradling him to his chest like a small child. He presses his lips together as he realized how light North was now.

They made it back outside with no difficulties. All the personnel seemed to have left, and they didn't see anyone.

The wind was still blowing harshly, though now it sounded more mournful, less mocking. Snow flurries whipped past their faces, and Scotland hunched partially over, shielding his precious burden from the worst of it.

England, Wales, and Scotland's eyes were closed as they began the spell that would take them back home to Ireland when said nation stopped them.

"Wait." The oldest nation turned back to face the complex, almost completely hidden in the fading light. Dark ribbons of magic tore through the air. "There's something I need to do."

He thrust his arms out, palms up. There was a deep rumbling sound.

In a fierce gesture, Ireland sent his magic through the earth. The ground beneath their feet trembled and sharp spires of rocks crashed up from below to pierce the white buildings. In a mighty roar, the site collapsed, sending dust and snow billowing into the sky.

Peace settled out over the Arctic wastes.

Ireland dropped his arms to his sides, his head nodding wearily. England and Wales moved to support him, but he waved them off. He took a deep breath and straightened up again, satisfaction glimmering in his eyes.

" _Now_ we can go home."

England snorted softly as Ireland joined them in their magic circle. "Showoff."

"Shut up."

Magic sang and danced, and they were whisked away.

* * *

 **Whoo, that was hard to write. I'm almost done with this story! Just one more chapter.**

 **Again, if there are any mistakes, please tell me so I can fix them.**

 **Irish: Oh,** _ **le do thoil, Thuaidh…-**_ **Oh, please, North…**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

The steady ticking of the grandfather clock was the loudest sound in the darkened room. Faint shadows played on of the walls, lit by the soft glow the room's only lamp gave off. They seemed uncertain, as though sensing the somber mood emanating from the conscious occupant seated in the worn armchair.

"You going to sit there all night?"

Ireland sat up, startled by the sudden quiet inquiry. Scotland stood leaning against the door frame, watching his older brother impassively. Ireland rubbed his eyes blearily.

" _Alba_?" he questioned, voice a bit blurry. He frowned. "What time is it?"

Scotland came into all the way into the room, settling his lanky form into the rickety wooden chair besides Ireland. The Scottish nation's legs were sprawled and his arm was thrown up gracelessly over the back of the chair.

"A little past midnight." Scotland smirked softly. "I came to see if you'd dozed off like the old man you are."

Ireland grunted, not deeming a reply necessary for _that_ remark. "Where are _Cymru_ and _Albion_?"

His brother shrugged. "The little priss was being useless, so Wales took him out with him. I think they're researching some more." The Scottish nation's tone was rough and careless as usual, but Ireland caught the deeper meaning hidden behind his words. _They were too worried to stay, so I sent them out to get their mind off things._ Scotland's eyes flicked towards the still form in the bed. "How is he?"

Ireland looked as well. North lay motionless in the pale sheets, the pallor of his skin faintly luminous in the warm lamplight. The stark white of bandages gleamed out from where they wrapped around the young nation's body. From the way his eyelids fluttered and his brow was creased, it was clear that he was fighting some inner demon in his sleep.

Ireland sighed wearily. "He's alive. I don't think there will be any more danger to him or his nation, and he's healing-but he still won't wait up."

By the time they had gathered enough magical energy to teleport back to Ireland's house; North had been in critical condition. It had been a good thing that he was a nation, even with his heart damaged, because if he hadn't-they didn't know if he would have survived.

They had all pitched in with their remaining magical power to help heal him, but the older nations were all so drained that the most they could do was keep North's spirit steady. His bullet wound, thankfully, had missed all major organs and had been taken care of the human way. His other injuries were numerous and in various stages of healing. After seeing the extent of what had been done to his youngest brother, it had taken all of Ireland's self-control to not explode with rage.

He hated seeing North like this. North, who was normally so vibrant and full of life, who was also secretly a sarcastic little shit that kept up with his older brothers despite their centuries on him. North, who was his littlest brother, who had had unspeakable things done to him, and who he _hadn't been able to help._

Scotland frowned as he felt the direction Ireland's thoughts had gone in. " _Éire_ …"

"He's so _young_ , _Alba_." Ireland whispered. He stared down his tightly clasped hands on his lap. "Even younger than America. You saw what those records said. The tests they ran…" His fingers clenched, the knuckles showing white. "We weren't there when he needed us. What kind of a family are we?"

Scotland blinked. He hadn't seen this side to Ireland in… oh, a couple hundred years. _No, scratch that,_ the redhead thought, musing backwards a bit. _He acted like that… a few times when North he was a wee lad._

Ireland sighed. "I left, England is constantly ill-tempered and fighting with everyone, you've got aggression issues with England and a chip on your shoulder, and Wales just ignores the rest of us and does whatever the hell he wants. North is stuck in the middle of a constant war." A corner of his mouth quirked humorlessly. "And I thought that England's relationship with his colonies was bad."

North chose this moment to mutter in his sleep. The two older nations quickly glanced up. North tossed his head, ginger locks splayed on the white pillowcase. His eyes were flickering rapidly beneath his closed lids. His fingers, which were neatly bandaged and resting on top of the light blanket he was under, twitched as minute shivers ran through his body. A faint whimper was heard in the still air.

Hesitantly, Ireland took the hand that lay closest to him. He squeezed it softly, trying to reassure the young nation as he shivered in the throes of yet another nightmare. Scotland's eyebrows nearly shot past his hairline. First his family talk, now this. Scotland leaned back in his chair, hiding his smile. Ireland was actually a sentimental bloke under all his Irish bluff and bluster.

North cried out again, his breath coming in short little gasps, and Scotland immediately sobered up again.

"Has he kept doing this since we brought him home?" the Scottish nation asked despondently. Almost three days now… Whatever North was fighting in his head, it was an uphill battle.

Ireland simply nodded, his eyes still fixed on the younger nation. "Every hour or so."

There was silence in the darkened room for a few minutes, punctuated only by North's terrified murmurs. Eventually, whatever the younger nation had been dreaming about had apparently faded. He relaxed, his face smoothing, though he still looked exhausted.

Ireland held his hand for a few moments longer, finally letting go when he saw that North had fallen back into a deeper sleep. He sat back in his chair as well, rubbing his eyes once more. Scotland was struck by how tired the Irish nation looked. His face was drawn, and there were deep bags under his normally bright eyes. Grumbling softly, Scotland reached out and punched his brother in the arm. Ireland yelped, surprised.

"Ow!" Ireland hissed, rubbing the injured appendage. "What the hell was that for?!"

"For being a bloody moron," Scotland growled back. "When was the last time you slept?" His eyes narrowed. "And I know that you haven't completely recovered from using up all that magic, either."

Ireland scowled, glaring at his younger brother. Scotland glared right back.

The small standoff broke when Ireland chuckled breathlessly, all of his tension flowing out of him. He grinned wryly. "Mother hen."

Scotland made a face, crossing his arms. "Look who's talking," he grumbled, a bit embarrassed. His manner turned serious again. "You should go get some sleep." He jerked his chin towards North, who was now resting fairly peacefully. "I'll watch him."

The Irish nation sighed and stood up, stretching his arms up over his head. He groaned softly, massaging the back of his neck. He was stiff and achy from his hours-long vigil.

"You know, you may actually be right." He shot a sly grin the Scottish nation's way. "For once."

Scotland harrumphed indignantly, glowering at his brother. One had a feeling that if the two of them weren't in a sick room, the Scottish nation would have replied with something not suitable for respectable company.

* * *

"England, wait up!" Wales called out, hurrying after his brother as the blond nation strode far ahead in the darkness. The English nation gave no sign of having heard him as he rounded the corner. His shoulders were hunched under his thick black coat, courtesy of the cold rain beating down on the two of them. Wales grumbled and picked his stride up so that he was practically running, catching up in a few moments. England barely threw him a sideways glance as he drew alongside.

"Where are we going to next?" The English nation's tone was sharp and icy.

Wales wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, swiping off some of the water that dripped through his brunette hair and down his face. "I don't know," he admitted. "We already went and talked to your, mine, and North's bosses." He chewed his lip thoughtfully as he stared up into the inky clouds. "It's not like we can go to Ireland or Scotland's bosses, they need to do that on their own." The Welsh nation tilted his head towards his brother. "Do you want to go grab a pint?"

"No, thank you." England snapped. Wales groaned. The brunette nation stopped and grabbed England's arm, swinging him around to face each other in a halt. England made a surprised sound.

"Bloody what?!" the English nation growled, yanking his arm out of the other's grip. He glared at Wales, who crossed his arms and glared right back.

"What is it with you?!" the Welsh nation demanded, a little heatedly. England blinked, opening his mouth, but Wales plowed right over him. "You've been acting like someone smashed your favorite teapot all night. Now, I know that being unpleasant might seem like it could be your natural state, but I'm your brother and I know better." Wales stared England straight in the eyes, helped by the fact that they were almost exactly the same height. England's face was blankly surprised.

Wales took on a softer tone. "What's wrong?"

England huffed, and crossed his arms, looking away. He pressed his lips together, brow furrowed. Wales waited, until-

"It's my bloody fault, okay?!"

Wales blinked. "What?"

England stayed turned away, not looking him in the eyes. His voice took on a broken cast.

"It's my fault this happened to North." He took a deep, shaky breath. "If I wasn't…" The English nation swallowed hard before continuing. "If I wasn't so… _controlling_ , if I actually listened to you all-" England looked up, and Wales was shocked to see his eyes tear-bright.

England continued, his voice soft. "I know that we don't all exactly have the smoothest relationship"- he snorted- "or the best past. I know that you all blame me for most of it." At Wales's start of protest, the English nation waved his hand tiredly. "I've heard you all say it- smashed and otherwise. And some of it _is_ true." England dropped his hands, looking worn. "I try my best, but I simply have to face the fact that I don't do a very good job when it comes to keeping my family together." A bitter, immensely sad smile tugged his lips. "America left, Ireland left, Scotland _tried_ leaving." England shook his head. "I'm actually not quite sure why he stayed."

Wales bit his lip, keeping quiet. " _Albion_ …" he said softly.

England appeared to not have heard him speak. He shoved his hands back into the pockets of his black coat, ignoring the steady stream of water trickling down his face. "I should have been able to protect him," Wales heard him whisper.

Stepping up beside him, Wales grasped his younger brother's shoulder comfortingly. England glanced up in surprise.

"You can't think like that, _brawd_." Wales made sure to say this firmly, to truly let his brother know what he was thinking. "Sure, we have our differences." He grinned wryly. "We bicker like a load of fools, and yell, and occasionally try to bash each other's' heads in." England frowned, bemused by where he was going with that. Wales shook his shoulder gently. "But we care about each other just as much. And we all know that. We know that you, bossy as you are, are just doing your best to help. That's what's important." The Welsh nation smirked and ruffled England's damp blond hair. "We all love you, _brawd bach_. Get over it."

England stepped away; irritably flattening his mussed hair, to little success. "Wanker," he said, a small smile playing its way around his mouth. "You're not that much older than me."

Wales slung an arm over his shoulder, and for once, England didn't protest. "It's enough to count. You're just glad that you aren't the baby anymore, with North around."

"That's not it!"

Bickering softly, the two continued their way into the night.

* * *

 **Okay, so I lied. This isn't the last chapter. Hope you're not too disappointed. ;)**

 **Welsh:** _ **Brawd-**_ **Brother ~** _ **Brawd bach**_ **\- Little brother**

 **This was my attempt at brotherly fluff. I hope it came out okay.**

 **PLEASE. *Grovels* REVIEW.**


	10. Chapter 10

_The dark specter was standing over him again, looming closer and closer. North tried backing away, doing anything to just get some distance between them, but his limbs were heavy and unresponsive. The specter seemed to know. It glided forwards until its edges blotted out his view of everything else._

 _North wrapped his arms around himself, desperately fighting down the pounding fear that always accompanied the specter's arrival. It kept showing up time and time again. How long had it been? Days? Months? Years? In this dark dreamscape, nothing made sense. There was no time, no reality. He was drowning in black._

 _Out of the shadows, he heard a soft voice._

"It's okay, North. You can beat this."

 _A phantom touch rested briefly on his shoulder._

"You are not alone."

 _The specter took offense to the sudden fading of fear. A low hiss came from it as it pressed its attack, forcing more memories into North's mind. Blood. Terror. Pain._

 _North flinched at the sudden influx, but determinedly threw up a mental wall._

"No."

 _Shadows roiled around the edges of his wall, snarling as they tried to find their way in._

"No," _North said again, his voice stronger. He forced the darkness away from him._ "I'm not afraid of you!"

 _A glow of light leapt into being at his words. It shattered the shadows, and the veil ripped open._

 _He was going to be okay._

* * *

As opposed to all the other times he had struggled back into the waking world, North woke up as simply as a light switch being thrown. One moment it was dark, the next it was… slightly less dark.

North's eyes flickered open. The shadowy walls of a familiar room met his gaze. Still in a half dreamy state, he took a deep breath, noticing that most of the pain that had been plaguing him had vanished. His fingers curled around the soft edge of a blanket, whose comfortable weight was settled over him.

North turned his head to the left, following the weak stream of natural light that came peeking through the thick dark blue curtains draped in front of a window. It illuminated enough for him to confirm what he had earlier thought. This was Ireland's house. He had stayed in this bedroom many times before. A quick stab of nostalgia made an appearance.

Slowly, North pushed himself upright into a sitting position. He winced as he rested against the carved wooden headboard. The pain might be gone, but a new weakness seemed to have settled into his limbs. He felt shaky and more than a little frail.

Turning back to his right, North blinked in surprise, then smiled at the sight of a familiar figure slumbering in the room's armchair.

Scotland's head rested on his shoulder, his chest rising and falling gently in time with his breathing. Scattered shafts of sunlight highlighted fragments of color. The pale white of his loose shirt, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, and the fiery red of his mussed hair stood out among the more subdued hues in the darkened room. The older nation's face looked much more peaceful as he slept. His sharp features were softened in a way that was rarely seen by others.

As if sensing the gaze that was being cast upon him, Scotland stirred, his own eyes opening. Muddled with sleep for a moment, his gaze met North's, who was quietly staring back. The Scottish nation's eyes widened.

"North!" he exclaimed, sitting upright. Scotland grinned a wide, exultant smile that North hadn't seen on his face in a long time. "You're awake!"

North managed a wry smile back, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. "Evidently." His voice was soft and hoarse from disuse.

Scotland snorted at the response as he got up, moving to the window. He pulled back the curtains, tying them off and letting bright morning light stream readily into the room. The recognizable green of Ireland's countryside was perceivable through the opening. Scotland came back over to the bed, seating himself in the smaller wooden chair that was next to it. From his stiff movements, North surmised he must have been in the armchair for a while. "So," his older brother said, checking North's forehead with the back of his hand. "How do you feel?"

North grimaced slightly, ducking away from the hand. "Like I've just recovered from getting trampled by a rampaging America," he answered honestly.

Scotland grinned again at the description before sobering up. "You had us all worried there for a while," he said quietly. "You were out for so long…" His brow creased at the memory of the anxiety they had all shared. "We didn't know if you were going to wake up-"his voice dropped. "If we had gotten to you in time or not."

North didn't reply as he stared down at the gray woolen blanket covering his lap. His fingers dug into the thick fabric as a few haunting memories came floating back, taunting him. He shook his head, banishing the dark thoughts from his mind.

"Well," he said, looking up again. "I'm awake and well now, so it looks like you did." North attempted a smile. It came out a bit small, and a bit strained, but real enough. Scotland seemed to relax a hair at the sight of it.

North frowned slightly as he pondered something his brother had just said. "Just how long was I asleep?"

"Since we brought you home?" Scotland's tone was muted. "Four days."

North gently pressed one of his hands to his chest. "Oh." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Scotland's expression. It was wane and solemn, two things he had never associated with perhaps the most spit-fire of his elder brothers. Coming to a quick decision, North pulled his legs up and pushed the covers back, belatedly realizing that he was wearing pajamas.

"Oi, what are you doing?" Scotland asked, making to stand up.

"What does it look like? I'm getting up," North replied, swinging his legs over so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. At Scotland's raised eyebrow, the younger nation made a face. "What? You said I've been stuck in here for the better part of a week. It's time I moved." He carefully tested his weight on the floor, and grimaced as his legs trembled and threatened to collapse. "On second thought, I think I may need you to help me up."

Scotland grumbled as he looped a strong arm under North's, taking some of the strain off. "First off, it doesn't count as being stuck somewhere if you were unconscious the whole time," the Scottish nation protested. "And four days is not the better part of a week!"

"It's more than half." "Barely." "It still counts." Though they were bickering good-naturedly, North appreciated that his brother hadn't stopped him in his decision to get up. Their progress down the hall was slow, due to North having to lean heavily on Scotland every step. They made it to the living room with a small amount of difficulty.

Their entrance was unnoticed by the other occupants. North paused in the archway, taking in the unusual sight of all of his brothers in the same room with mild shock. They weren't even arguing; they just looked so … natural with each other. Wales was slumped in the corner of the coach, looking half sleep and nodding off into his hand. England sat beside him, legs crossed and nursing a cup of tea. Ireland occupied the armchair across from them. He was reading a newspaper, though from the slightly glazed look in his eyes it was apparent that he wasn't really paying much attention to its content.

"Oi," Scotland called out from where the two of them were standing. "Guess who decided to finally wake up."

Three heads, each sporting a different hue, snapped up in various degrees of alertness.

"North!" Setting his teacup down hurriedly, England sprang to his feet and approached them. He frowned in concern, checking North's forehead in the same manner Scotland had a few minutes previously. "Are you sure you should be up? You're still recovering, and it-"

"Blimey, _Albion_ , say hello first," admonished Wales, coming up besides England. He grinned at North and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Good to see you up." The Welsh nation turned back to his blond brother and shoved his shoulder, smirking. "All right there, mother hen? Need a minute to unruffle your feathers?"

England batted the hand away, a faint tinge of red creeping up his cheeks. "Stop that! I was just making sure…" England coughed and turned back to North and Scotland, both who were watching the proceedings with humor and exasperation. He smiled suddenly, a genuine, heartfelt smile that North hadn't seen in a long time. "It _is_ good to see you up again," England said softly.

North grinned back. A movement registered in the corner of his eye, and he looked over to see Ireland standing there a few feet away. The Irish nation's face was unreadable as he looked at his youngest brother. North's smile faded a bit.

"Hey, _Éire_ ," he greeted softly. He took in his eldest brother's appearance, from the mussed hair and the dark shadows under his eyes, to his uncertain posture and rumpled clothes. North smiled wryly, attempting humor. "You look about as bad as I feel."

Ireland blinked for a moment. Then, shaking his head, the older nation moved forwards swiftly and grabbed North in a fierce hug. North stiffened in surprise as his brother's arms enveloped him firmly, then relaxed into the embrace. He could feel Scotland as he moved away a pace, letting Ireland stay supporting North.

North left his face buried in Ireland's shirt, taking in the comforting smell of wool, grass, and water that his brother carried. He was strongly reminded of the time Mother Britannia had come and held him.

Ireland finally spoke, his voice a bit rough. "Do me a favor, and let's not have this happen again?" He chuckled weakly. "I'm too old for this."

* * *

"So…" North absentmindedly nursed his warm cup of tea. "Magic."

England nodded. "Yes, we were a bit surprised as well." Scotland snorted. "Gobsmacked is more like it," the Scottish nation corrected.

"Do you know what happened?" Ireland asked from where he had re-seated himself on the armchair. The five of them had settled back into the living room, with North taking a new position on the coach. North took a sip of his tea, quietly savoring the warmth it spread through his cold body, before answering.

"I think so. After a… session-" unbeknown to himself, he shivered at the sudden memory that sprang up at the mention. His brothers exchanged dark looks. "-I had a dream. I was back home, in a forest." Here North hesitated, not sure of how to go on. "I met Mum."

 _That_ got everyone else's attention. Ireland straightened up, staring intently at North. England and Wales looked shocked, Scotland, thoughtful.

"Britannia came to you?" England asked, surprise evident in his tone. North nodded.

"She… helped me." North smiled at that memory. It was one he would never be afraid of. "She said I _was_ her child, even though I was established in the modern era, and that I had magic. It just needed to be unlocked, and that was up to me." He shrugged. "Later…" He took a deep breath. "I… was scared, and there was a light. In my head." North frowned as he struggled to explain what it felt like. "When I caught it, it felt like… like I had found something that had always been missing. And you know what happened next." North stared awkwardly downwards at his steaming tea.

There were a few moments of silence as his brothers digested this new information.

"Well," Ireland said. "I guess it's high time you've had some magic lessons." The heavy mood in the room lifted. North snorted.

"Magic lessons? What am I, twelve?" He grinned teasingly at the elder Irish nation.

Ireland scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, please. You need to know. Besides, we already taught you the basics, so you should pick up the rest pretty fast." He grinned back slyly. "The operative word being _should_."

"Oi!"

"Which means you're stuck with us for a while," Scotland said cheerily, draping an arm over North's shoulder. "We can't have you running about blowing holes in the charming countryside." He pulled a mock horrified face. "Think of what the Queen would say."

"Wanker, show some respect for royalty!"

"Oh, but I _am_ , dearest _Albion_."

"That'll be the day…"

"Oi, _Cymru,_ whose side are you on?!"

"My own, moron, so I don't have to put up with you lot all the time…"

North got up quietly as the three of them continued their heated and completely ridiculous argument. He made his way into the kitchen, trailing the thick blanket one of his brothers had wrapped around his shoulders across the hardwood floor. He set his half full cup down on the counter, and sat himself gently on the bench. North pulled the blanket tighter around himself, shivering. He still felt icy, though not as much as he had earlier.

A man's face, with that disturbing smile, flashed across his vision. _Shall we try again, Northern Ireland?_

North shuddered, burying his face in his hands. He couldn't forget. He wished that he could, but he knew that he would always remember all of it. For as long as he was here on this earth, he would remember.

"Hey." A soft voice broke his thoughts, and he started, lifting his head. Ireland had entered the room without him noticing, and was standing beside him, concern in his eyes. He laid a hand on his shoulder, frowning when North flinched involuntarily. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." North rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Just some…" He paused, and then sighed. "No, I'm not." Ireland hesitated at the tone in his voice, and then sat down next to North.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ireland asked quietly. North shook his head.

"Not really," he admitted. He bit his lip. "I don't think I'm ready yet." North winced and slumped back in his chair. A pregnant pause filled the still air.

"I want to forget," North finally whispered. "But I can't. I don't want to remember any of it, but they keep coming back, and I can still hear _his_ voice-" North's voice broke.

Ireland reached across the small space separating them and drew him closer so that North's head rested on his shoulder. The younger brother leaned bonelessly into the Irish nation, letting himself take reassurance in his soothing presence.

Ireland spoke. "It's going to be okay, _Thuaidh._ " He pressed his lips gently into his younger brother's ruffled ginger hair. "Do you remember what I told you, all those years back?"

North's voice came back muffled by the fabric of Ireland's shirt. "You said that you'd never leave me."

Ireland smiled, evidently a little surprised that he had remembered. "That's right. None of us are going anywhere."

"Because we're family." Ireland glanced up at the sound of England's voice. The other three had apparently gotten over their spat, and had made their way into the kitchen as well.

Scotland, Wales, and England all set themselves down besides the two different Irish nations, joining the small comfort huddle.

North felt himself drifting off to sleep, finally warm with all of his brothers around him. Their words echoed in his mind as his eyes closed and he slipped into the welcoming arms of dreamland.

"And family will always be there for you."

 _Fine_

* * *

 **I am not sorry. So I like happy endings. Sue me.**

 **I did it, guys! I FINISHD MY FIRST MULTI CHAPTER FIC! *flails and runs around the house from excitement***

 **Thank you to all my lovely followers and favoriters, and of course, my fabulous reviewers, who without I would have become disheartened a long time ago. You guys are AWESOME.**

 **Please drop a review before you go, and tell me how you think I did! I would love to hear your opinion.**


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